The Native Iowan

Beware of self-importance. Did I say that wrong? Yes? Sorry. Thanks.  Beware of self-impotence. The ancient Seers said. It was the image of The Self. An anchor. In truth. It is, they said. Beware. The image of Self is attractive. It can be wounded. Demeaned, conditioned. Desires, propensities, needs. All as important as The Self.

Did I say that wrong? Yes? Yes. Sorry, again. Thanks, again. All as impotent as the self. They spoke of being balanced. Aware. The world around us. One’s personal environment. Being balanced and aware. On guard. Protecting our self-impotence. To think, a personal insult. More threatening than. What? A touch’n go near-miss on the freeway?

The Seers. The Shamans of old. Viewed things from a different angle. The sense-of-self was an anchor. An impediment. Foolishly accepted. Fiercely protected. Cherished. Lovingly cultivated in our garden of self-impotence. But why? Because our elders did thus? Traumas are real. But somethings we agree to accept. Fear to lose. Protectively hoard. I wonder why.

I wonder. A lovely day. The Point Crux Beach. Savo, five miles distant. Could I swim that far? I know a guy. Swam from Kolombangara to Gizo. A fund raising activity. It took nine hours. Could I swim to Savo? With a bit of training? But I wouldn’t do it jeans. Or with a weight-belt.

I wonder why. We go through life. “Carrying the weight of the Worlds”. And perversely enjoying every step. I recall an old Mantra, “When you seek it. You cannot find it. Your hand cannot reach it. Your mind cannot exceed it. When you no longer seek it. It is always with you.” I wonder why.