I was responding to ZenDotStudio in a comment stream on Tuesday’s post and explained that this week’s enso series arose from an unfortunate incident with the lid of my ink pot.  The effect (which is on Monday’s post) was quite lovely and being a creature of ever-expanding cravings, I tried to re-produce it using different colours.  The results have been rather nice, I think, despite the contrived nature of the work.

It does remind me that there is a huge difference between a “contrived” nature and a “constructed” one.  After politely trashing a Buddhist book in a review by calling the author’s personna “contrived,” the author attempted a slight-of-hand defense by claiming all personalities are “constructed.”  Ah.  No.  Not really.  More and more, I’m reading books and other writings that say more about the author’s pretense to authority-via-bluster than about Dharma.  When someone uses that big-tough-throw-it-in-your-face style, it sets off a big flashing red light for me.  And the neon sign screams, “Contrived illusion of competence ahead.  Proceed at risk of wasting your time.”

But what about a constructed illusion of competence?  I think that’s called a learning curve.  Black ink ring stain on canvas leads to curiousity about how this might become something useful.  Inadvertently cutting and pasting a data series in a long column results in … results!  Wondering what would happen if I open the computer registry and change a few values results in… well.. let’s not go there.  My IT guy just got a few free therapy sessions from me after that one.

Some people call it the “fake-it-until-you-make-it” approach to life.  I’m proposing there’s no faking it.  Really.  Take a good close look the next time you set up a constructed competence.  Who was the fake who designed, manifested, and realized it?  

We are what we practice.  And practicing competence can be what we become.

I have to go and bow to my little ink pot.

It’s a holiday weekend here.  A Civic Holiday when government employees get the day off and those of us who  need an excuse to take the day off do so in sympathetic support.  This year, it seems we all need a rest.  A bit of time to get rid of some of those afflictions that have been clinging on well past their expiration date.  The idea of taking a break, a respite, a reprieve from work is not alien to me.  Being civic-minded, I’m big into conservation.  Conservation of energy, resources, and time.  In fact, burn out theories have tied our inability to conserve resources to a variety of work-related ills.  So, I take my time off as prescribed and allow my inner sloth to manifest.

Unfortunately, this weekend started with my office computer waging a battle to the death.  Friday is not good time for these things to happen.  By the time I got it vaguely functional, it was time to set off on other chores, not the least of which was learning from Frank that the taxi cab who had run into the truck on Sunday had racked up $4,000 worth of damages.  I admire a man who can quietly say things like, “I’m afraid not, sir.  My truck was parked.  You ran into it.  We’re not going to negotiate a 50-50 settlement.”  So, as we drove home, between truck and computer woes, I was overcome by a need to do something wild and crazy.  I got on my iPad and booked two tickets to see the Lion King that same night. 

Before you judge me harshly, let me say it was one of the most difficult things I’ve done.  Not only because it’s been years of refusing to treat ourselves, but because the damn truck was bouncing so much I accidentally tapped on Box Seats.  It was worth the price.  Especially when we came home to another power failure and relished dessert at midnight by candlelight.  (Dessert was fig cashew cream with a dribble of condensed milk.)  The rest of the weekend was spent (is still being spent as you read this) lunching al fresco in the gazebo, weeding the rose garden, and tasting the hot chili peppers that are fighting back a tomafoot of tomatoes.  

 It’s easy to go round and round in same rut believing we’re doing good for ourselves – or even for the world of suffering out there.  And while we may be, it’s important not to buy so totally into that delusion that we forget we too are one of the suffering hordes.  Often, it’s really our shadow side that’s pushing the wheel around, digging the tracks deeper, and convincing us that we’re oh-so-indispensable or oh-so-wise.  It takes practice and time to take off that layer of ego and allow a direct knowing of ourselves.   True, it starts with acknowledging our suffering, being honest about it, being willing to stay with it.  And then we have a choice: we can masochistically stay there and choke in our own skin or leave behind what is keeping us too small for our life.  We can refuse to re-trace the line of old patterns and risk that vulnerability of being human.  And if we think, that’s all there is, we can notice how many times that skin has to be sloughed off as we grow our egos, over and over.