Not trying too hard

     Not that much Gaudiya tonight. Rather more myself then usually. Not trying too hard, as I usually do, feeling further then closer, maybe bit embarrassed of my spiritual inadequacy but also little bit more relaxed. Sometimes I just wish I was a Buddhist. You know, “let it go”, “stop trying to be something else”, “it will happen itself, once you stop pushing it”, etc.

     Maybe that’s just me: always feeling that I’m not good enough, that I have to strive for perfection always, in any circumstances. And since most of the time I’m so far from perfection, I’m never happy. Never happy with myself, and as it goes, never happy with anything. Kind of stupid, isn’t it? But that’s the thing. How to balance it? Not to be complacent in the name of being in touch with the level I’m on, and on the other hand not to be a “spiritual Hitler” to myself, always trying to kick my own arse.

     My therapist noticed that yesterday. 

     “You know that whenever you speak about your life, you always talk about aspiring to perfection?”

    “Well… is it wrong?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we try to be better persons?”

    She just smiled. 

     I guess this is what they do – give you a riddle and leave you with it, offering you a mysterious smile for the road. But I think I know what she meant. Is my “striving for perfection” always spiritual, or maybe there are some other things to it? Like for example lack of self-acceptance, feeling that God doesn’t accept me as I am, so I have to become perfect to make him accept me? 

     (But isn’t it the truth?) 

     It definitely isn’t the way this post was suppose to go. I wanted something relaxed, maybe some short poem, a joke, or something. 

The truck driver was my age,

he just drove too fast,

and hit that house,

razing it to the ground,

thanks God, no one died.

That was the news of yesterday,

something to talk about

in our small village,

my mom gave it to me,

but I was indifferent,

though I made big eyes,

so she’d feel happy.

I don’t like jazz,

it’s so bloody mental,

like listening to an old ghost radio station, 

while having fever,

in grandma’s house,

laying under eiderdown, 

watching faded tapestry,

with a hunter and a bear on it.

Sometimes I feel like that

listening to bhajans

(I don’t know why)

and that’s not so good,

I know.

When I was a little boy,

with that boyish messed up life,

I dreamt about far away lands,

full of sweetness, friends

and love,

you know,

normal stuff.

PS. Oh, yes, we didn't get those visas. "We didn't prove sufficiently that our life base is in Poland". Oh, boy, if I only knew myself where is my life base! That's what I'm trying to figure out for over thirty years.