Lately when I am in the garden or trying to fall asleep or get my yoga on my brain starts going back to all the times in my life I mis-stepped, mis-spoke, mis-judged, well missed something. Basically was wrong, big times, tiny ones, it seems there is an endless supply of self loathing to be tapped into in my brain. What is up with that, I do not want to go there, I cannot fix it. I want to smell the roses, all the be here now be in the moment stuff. I choose scenes from my movie when I was very happy, glorious moments and try to focus on them, blot out the other stuff. That sticky gooey bad stuff is persistent and keeps coming back. I am beginning to understand all the vices people use to escape their brain, to stop the crazy noise. A few days ago I remembered Mary Oliver. Now when the crazy noise starts I sit and read one of her poems and it helps
I Worried
by Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
From Swan