This post, from February 23, 2011, highlights my daily practice - not my formal sitting meditation, but the work I do throughout the day to see what I'm up to. Sometimes I can get an insight as events unfold, but more often it takes some time to develop a clear perception. And that's okay, because it lessens the likelihood of a recurrence. Lessens it, but I still have to take responsibility.
Paranoia
I'd like to write about something near to all of us: paranoia.
I'm not talking about delusional thoughts like "The FBI is following me" or "There's arsenic in the tofu burger."
No, I'm talking about something more prosaic and, in its familiarity, often invisible.
A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a group of people who struggled to relate to me. Where they wanted clarity, I offered evasion. Where they wanted relationship, I offered manipulation. Where they wanted fluidity, I wanted control.
The encounter got a little difficult, at least for me, and I left feeling quite angry.
Later, as I worked with my feelings, I realized that my evasion, manipulation and control served only one purpose: to prevent these people from seeing me.
And that's the essence of paranoia, as I use the term - the impulse to avoid genuine contact with others.
Now, I don't care one way or the other about the terminology we apply to this behavior. Or if we use any term at all.
But I care greatly about developing insight into the behavior itself, the impulse to withhold myself from the world.
Because, if I can't see what I'm up to, how can I ever change?
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