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Con Gusano
My days are constructed in such a way that my aention is mostly drawn outward. I keepmyself engaged in the tasks of the day—a part of me having absorbed the idea that to beunoccupied is self-indulgent.I have absorbed the aitude that leisure is the enemy of virtue and sense. Literary examplesabound. The Romance of the Rose, a medieval French poem, personies “Idleness,” as thesource of temptation—an unoccupied moment in the garden leading to endless complica-tion and grief. On the other hand, philosophers praise the act of solitary reection. Socratesenjoined self-examination—a process that demands a certain amount of free time as well asan open mind.It seems that our inherited wisdom is divided, teaching that undirected thought can eitherreveal the truth of one’s own life or prompt chaos. Desire can fuel growth, or, as Dante implied,it can lead to the trap of a compulsion endlessly repeated.Sometimes my process of writing these meditations seems to lead to an endless loop. At othertimes it sets change in motion, enabling new possibilities.My own words clang like a rude bell. What is possible? I ask myself. What might I envision?What might I do?The fact is, between here and there lies fear—fear of the new, fear of rejection, fear of failure.I would like to dismiss such fears as nonsense, but it is not so easily done. I drag behind me alifetime of hesitations, both inherited and of my own making. Though my victories outnumbermy failures, I grieve over the knowledge that I have been for the most part cautious in what Ihave aempted, sizing up, analyzing, working through the obstacles mentally, optimizing mychance of success before I try something new.I like predictability, but predictability is, nally, suocating.I have an itch that demands more, like the worm at the boom of the mescal bole—
con gusano
they say, “with the worm”—put there for avoring, curious, a lile threatening, and, yes, tempt-ing. If one only tries what is safe, the results are predictable.Like a thread, these reections provide a fragile connection between my outer and inner selves.I struggle to nd something I can’t name and frequently nd myself surprised by the shapelessconsciousness of a need, a want, an impulse seeking expression, like the weight of the crowd ina subway car pushing me forward or back as the train slows and picks up speed.I’m reminded that the process of living is not as simple as it seems, requires eort, and not justone eort but constant repeated renewal. For a hundred reasons, the plans I made—years agoor yesterday—are irrelevant, and I am forced to nd new ways of working and being.
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phillipjonesin

I dig this !!!

reply06 / 29 / 2010
David Cole

so glad for the response. Thank you.

07 / 03 / 2010
Alikat747

I see myself in every word you have so masterfully put into print!

reply06 / 29 / 2010
David Cole

Very affirming to get the positive feedback. Thanks very much.

07 / 03 / 2010
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