Hunger

There is something in Buddhism called the hungry ghosts. I remember hearing about them and it fascinated me. At the time, I was very able to name some select people who fit the description exactly. I am sure my naming of them was accompanied by requisite finger-wagging. You know that feeling you get--oh, you can admit it--no one is watching. It is that feeling of superiority that the bad trait does not belong to you, and even better--it belongs to someone else! This feels like the rite of Spring. To know that what is wrong in the world is not you, means you are OK. A decent person. Certainly better than that other person.

So tonight I began thinking about my hungry ghost inside me. This just goes to show how nice and firm our resolve is to believe all is right with us--that is has taken me this long to really make the connection. So with no more ado--about this ghost. In my interpretation, the ghosts have these little mouths and giant bellies. They are unquenchable, and the torment is that their little tiny mouths can only take in so much at once. The end result is that they are always hungry. All that space in the belly and so little opportunity to fill it.

And to be hungry, as I have seen, is to suffer. To be hungry for love, for accolades, for accomplishment, for silence to fill spaces you do not want to feel. All of this hunger leads to yearning, which leads to desire to fill the space. Fill it with blanks, with those flourescent hazard cones, or a tall building. Just fill it is what we crave. And when I stop filling my space, there is something that happens.

The vacancy initially makes me want to fill it more than ever. I am not talking about the times when I am occupied. When life is like cherry pie and I am deeply immersed, in joy, in busy-ness. The time I speak of, is when the silence washes over me, and I see truths and can do nothing to soften them. I cannot move them out of focus, and I feel the rumbling in my belly. I do not expect that my belly will one day cease rumbling, perhaps until I pass from this place.

But until then, part of the art of living, for me, is to play the dance with the hunger when it arises. I dance with putting it out of its misery and acommodating it with distractions and work and laughter. And then there is just sitting with it, ugly and unappealing and whining for "fill" as it is. It is unwanted, but I imagine that it is sitting right next to me, feeling the same fear and rejection that comes from me. It is of me. And then with this, I am okay with sitting. The grumbling in my belly quiets and for a time, my mouth closes. The baby bird has stopped begging for food. I can wait, I think.

To do-or not to

Hungry...Am I? Aren't I? I didn't sleep well, so this tends to make me dopey. Also makes we want to float in vats of macaroni and cheese. Remember those Kraft ones? Actually, I was partial to Velveeta shells. I found those to be very "fancy." The clock looks like it could be lunch. I calculate when I ate last. I analyze if I need it. I ponder whether it would be sensible before the time gets too close. Teaching yoga on a full stomach can be done, but I don't recommend it.

What to do: It's like I'm looking at the t.v. guide of options and wondering what I can watch next. Just move the channel to something. Even just for some noise to have something there. Like having a drink in the hand. Just drink something! This is some sort of social expectation. If you go out to eat, you must eat. It is rude, otherwise. You cannot just hang out with the person, but need to show you're participating by sticking a plate or a bowl in front of you with something in it. I should bring toy food with me next time and throw it in a bowl and see if anyone notices. Things to be done.

It is no wonder that I am wondering about what to fill myself up with in this spare moment, mixed with a night's poor sleep. I dreamt I was living in Michigan and it was winter. In the midst of my dream, I panicked. I have this annoying commentator in my dreams. It is me. There is the dreamer, (me) and the commentator (me). Maybe it's caused by some sort of genetic snafu.

In the dream, my announcer said, "What are you going to do about the tires? How will you drive in all that snow and ice??" I am used to California, so the thought of a Midwest winter yanked me out of pure viewing and into anxiety about what I was going to do to fix the dream. Anxiety is a very familiar place. This is why I teach yoga. It is not for others.

And this brings me back to here and my "murmur" that is in the stomach. What will I do if I feel something and don't have a plan? If it is not work time, or lunch time, or some other appointed time for me to feel busy doing something.

If I eyeball my feeling--look inside, as I like to say--it does not feel like hunger. It feels like brain is soggy. Turned into pasty milk-soaked alphabet cereal letters. From figuring and configuring.

Eat when hungry. Don't when not. Sleep when tired. Drive when in Michigan.