Confusion sort of makes me feel dead. I notice my shoulders droop and chin drop.
It’s a general unidentifiable malaise. There is nothing to point at, no one to blame, no apparent problem to fix. Languor drapes itself like a man sprawled out from too much to drink.
It feels like too many ideas, wishes, hopes, and disappointments to fit into one box. They lie like broken pieces that cannot be mended, tossed into the junk drawer waiting to get repurposed into something useful down the road. The many differences cannot be fused together, or can they? Isn’t this the real spiritual work? Isn’t this the paradox? Isn’t this the stretch to find the perfectness in imperfection?
I really dislike this range of feelings. Confusion seems to anesthetize me to the things that really matter and dims my heart and mind more than I’d like it to. I stop feeling love, passion, justice, hope, possibility, freedom. Confusion waves a magic wand and places a hocus pocus freeze on those qualities. I sort of lose my ability to feel or at least identify how I feel. And, I suppose, that is why confusion feels like an enemy or at least a mischievous jokester.
If I ignore it, then the point goes to the enemy within. If I pick up a sword with anger in my mind, then I lose two points in life’s game. If I cry, then it’s kind of like taking a milk and cookies break, but the game goes on. I’m discovering that the most peace inducing strategy is a slow fix.
I began my aikido with a glare stare and resort to my secret weapon: a deep, long, slow ujjayi. Then, I make a mental circumference after noticing the potency of the vast sensory dimensions. Once I’ve hoisted my lasso around the feeling, I recognize my need for clarity. I remember who’s who. Then, I whip out my needle and thread and begin stitching together the quilt of paradox.
I con my way into fusing the pieces
Icon my way into a new imagery
In me fuse
Infuse with new life
Therefore, I con fusion into whatever I choose