I love this line from the poet Ellen Bass:
“There are minutes, hours, sometimes even whole days
when the earth is spinning 1.6 million miles around the sun
and nothing tragic happens to you.”
I decided to confirm this fact––the distance part not the “nothing tragic” aspect––and it’s true.
The earth is indeed traveling around the sun at an average speed of 67,000 miles per hour.
Thus, in over 24 hours, the Earth travels approximately 1.6 million miles.
What’s less mathematically precise, however, is how many of those days exist without considerable Contrast (the theme of this month’s meditation HERE.
Last week I wrote about switching newsletter platforms and I’m delighted to say that it went off practically without a hitch.
There were tradeoffs, however, some of which I’d factored into my decision and some of which surprised me afterward.
In brief, there were two main reasons to switch:
a. cross-promotional abilities and
b. that I could effortlessly set up a Premium Level (more info about that in the P.S.)
And again, please note:
The weekly newsletter and the monthly meditation will always remain free.
The downside, besides some formatting limitations, was losing some data analysis which, while undeniably important, is not my business cup of tea.
Surprisingly, though, Substack did something the previous platform did not:
It immediately informed me about the geographic demographics of my audience.
After sending Sunday’s newsletter, I was delighted to learn that I’m read in 52 countries (which honestly does seem like a lot), and 49 states.
Yet apparently there’s not a single soul in Alaska who’s interested in what I have to say.
(sigh)
In any case, I read a new metaphor about Contrast this week which had a profound impact on me.
The thought isn’t unique to the writer Richard Dotts but his terrific metaphor is.
While we tend to think of our experience of reality as quite solid, metaphysical teachers always tell us it is not.
This tends to be extremely annoying.
Rather than denying its solidity, however, you might believe that the things that feel densest and most difficult to change are more like ice.
“Just as your freezer has to continually supply energy to keep the ice cubes in their solid state, your existing reality perpetuates its current state only through your continued thoughts, words, and deeds.
The person who is directing this massive flow of energy is you!
Cut off the electricity supply or take the ice cubes out of the freezer and they melt into water in no time.”
Sometimes it feels like I keep opening the freezer, perpetually bemoaning the fact that the ice cubes still haven’t melted.
It’s an almost embarrassing revelation to realize if I just take them out of the fridge for an hour or so––removing my obsessive attention on them in other words––they would quite effortlessly dissolve.
Speaking of contrast, I really love this other poem by Ellen Bass.
RELAX
Bad things are going to happen.
Your tomatoes will grow a fungus
and your cat will get run over.
Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream
melting in the car and throw
your blue cashmere sweater in the drier.
Your husband will sleep
with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling
out of her blouse. Or your wife
will remember she’s a lesbian
and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat—
the one you never really liked—will contract a disease
that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth
every four hours. Your parents will die.
No matter how many vitamins you take,
how much Pilates, you’ll lose your keys,
your hair and your memory. If your daughter
doesn’t plug her heart
into every live socket she passes,
you’ll come home to find your son has emptied
the refrigerator, dragged it to the curb,
and called the used appliance store for a pick up—drug money.
There’s a Buddhist story of a woman chased by a tiger.
When she comes to a cliff, she sees a sturdy vine
and climbs half way down. But there’s also a tiger below.
And two mice—one white, one black—scurry out
and begin to gnaw at the vine. At this point
she notices a wild strawberry growing from a crevice.
She looks up, down, at the mice.
Then she eats the strawberry.
So here’s the view, the breeze, the pulse
in your throat. Your wallet will be stolen, you’ll get fat,
slip on the bathroom tiles of a foreign hotel
and crack your hip. You’ll be lonely.
Oh taste how sweet and tart
the red juice is, how the tiny seeds
crunch between your teeth.
I’ve recently had a few days in which the Earth travels those 1.6 million miles, where there are tigers above and below, with the mice gnawing at my sturdy vine.
Fortunately, a few strawberries have revealed themselves.
For example, sometimes there are delights like this, the moment when I first laid eyes on Vlad, 3 years ago this week:
Full Video HERE
Speaking still further about Strawberries…
One of the examples I’ve read in various articles recently about the limitations of AI is that it supposedly can’t spell the word “Strawberry”correctly.
I tested this myself:
Say what you will about artificial intelligence, unlike many humans, it’s quite willing to admit when it’s wrong.
This has been a Full Moon week of great contrasts for me.
Celebrating the anniversary of Vlad’s arrival and also hitting a snag with a major deadline.
I do, however, always take comfort in the fact that I’m not alone in the latter, as is testified by that wonderful Douglas Adams quote:
“I love deadlines.
I love the whooshing noise
they make as they go by.”
More importantly, I think I’m finally learning to let the ice melt.
In fact, some mornings I’ve taken to filling a brandy snifter with ice cubes, setting it aside and marveling that in a few hours they’ve all dissolved.
There are indeed days where you can breezily travel 1.6 million miles around the sun and not only does nothing tragic happen to you, you get yourself a new puppy.
Even during those times when it seems the ice refuses to melt, and the tigers are above and below, at least I can enjoy the sweet and tart wild strawberry in front of me.
I take great comfort in that, and even though I may never know why no one in Alaska is reading this, at least I’m certain in my knowledge that “strawberry” is spelled with three Rs and not two.
It may be a small victory, but it’s mine.
