Audio Recording:
Written Talk:
I kind of did a stream of consciousness writing on quagmire.
Caught in a quagmire, bogged down, sucked in by this quicksand of habitual patterns. Erroneous views of self and other, erroneous view that my choices, my actions affect me and me alone. That I am responsible for all of my actions. That I have total control. Erroneous view of me, alone. That I am alone. Single entity. That all of my ancient twisted Karma is my own doing, my own fault. That I have made bad choices and could have done otherwise. My unskillful actions form toxic clouds, that rain down and seep into the soil. What is reborn is tainted. So I’ve come to believe.
There is another way. You fall into the quagmire for the 144th time— but this time, you notice the sturdy branch that has grown out just above the mire. Has it always been there? You reach for it and slowly pull yourself out. You climb upon the branch, embrace it, curve your exhausted body around it, rest until you regain your strength. You sit on the branch for a while, looking back, trying to retrace your steps. Bewildered that you have again fallen into the same bog even though you knew it was coming. Even though you knew better. Even though you expected it would turn out differently this time. You take refuge here, in this sturdy tree. You reflect back on what it is that keeps leading you to the same quagmire, and how you blindly sink in again and again. From your perch, you begin to study the quagmire—the color of the soft mud, the damp smell, the moss and plants that surround it.
You marvel how this time you have managed to pull yourself up and out. You ask yourself, “How did I get here? What was different this time? You remember the voice in your head—a false, familiar friend—who promised comfort and safety. She lies, and you believe her, because you want to. She croons, “This time will be the last. If I just have this one thing, I will never crave again. If I can go to this place, have this experience, achieve this goal, be recognized, I will be satisfied, satiated, I will feel whole.”
Finally, you are ready to move on. You climb down the branch, your foot landing at the fork of the tree trunk, steady now, as you swing your foot down and meet the earth, and the earth holds you. You see three flat stones, covered over by briars and vines. Were they left here by the ancient ones? No matter, they offer a sturdy foot hold. You pick up a loose branch and begin clearing away the vines and the briars. When you step on the flat stone, it feels solid and trustworthy. Now you begin to search for and gather flat rocks, and continue laying them out in the soft earth.
The next time you manage to crawl out of the quagmire, you know to rest in the tree, get your bearings, relax, gather your strength, and reflect on how you got here. You look for a flat rock, placing it carefully in front of the previous one. There is a way forward. What is leading us remains a mystery. We have come to love the quagmire because it is familiar, it promises us false comfort, but it is a negligent parent who does not know how to truly nurture in the ways we need. And we cannot get enough.
How does it happen, when we finally decide to try something different? Do we tire of the false promises? Become bored of winding up with the same results. Or have we suffered enough and for some reason decide to offer ourselves encouragement, support, kindness—instead of chastising ourselves with harsh words, hoping that if we are tough enough on ourselves, we might change. Maybe 144 times in the quagmire was just what we needed to figure out a way beyond. Maybe we didn’t know any other way. Maybe only by realizing how stuck we were could we begin to even imagine climbing out or avoiding the trap in the first place.
