The seductiveness of turmoil.
Thursday, August 25, 2016
My foremost task for today is to keep myself focused on the practical things I need to do to improve my lot in life.
They can be seen as boring, mundane, dreary, tedious, and so on — if I fail to love myself enough to actually want to do them.
Accordingly, this morning I was reading through various news articles, and on one page, at the end, the links to “related” articles included this:
I didn’t read the article, but boy, just that headline really got my engines going. I can’t remember the last time I was in a setting where someone might have been told, “Check your privilege.” Normally this is addressed to a white person, and, as I’ve noted before, in my world there aren’t enough white people to matter.
But it sure is exciting anytime someone says that. Lots of indignation involved. An attribution of malice. Lots of zeal. Lots of turmoil.
Lots of all kinds of stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with improving my lot in life.
Or caring for myself, or loving myself.
How I’d love to chase down that red herring.
And completely forget about what I need to do today.
You know, there are all kinds of opportunities out there, potential red herrings, to get all excited about and distracted in and so wholly forget about caring for oneself.
Turmoil on college campuses among students who find it much more fun to disrupt, than to do one’s homework.
Demonstrators who’d much rather disrupt than look for work.
So easy to get caught up in.
I have found that the quality of my silent times from day to day depends very heavily upon exactly how I’ve conducted myself mentally and emotionally throughout the preceding day. Meditation appears to turn out to be a 24/7 endeavor. If I think turmoil, I’ll have turmoil; if I think peace, I’ll have peace.
Zeal and excitement have their place. I am best to invest those energies in the hard tasks involved in improving my lot in life. But to do that, I must constantly shepherd my thoughts and feelings.
In effect, every thought is a prayer.