Banana Peels and Other Cosmic Jokes
A blond was walking down the street, when up ahead she spotted a banana peel right in her path. Rolling her eyes skyward, and then, with a resigned shrug of her shoulders, she said, "Here we go again."
I'm not a fan of dumb-blond jokes, or any fill-in-the-blank-with-whatever-demographic jokes. They make me cringe, and depending on who is telling them, that person makes me cringe, unless I know they roast their own demographics in the same manner.
In this case however, I was instantly taken with the whole image, replacing the joke's scapegoat with "poor misinformed human".
I identified with those of us on the planet who perceive our daily existence just as preordained and unavoidable as being compelled to make a beeline for that banana peel.
Emotional reactions to the present continue to be triggered by some unresolved drama from the past for which we keep renewing our subscriptions, voluntarily pulling out our checkbooks during a seemingly on-going membership drive.
I have to include myself in that august group. There are feelings that well up in me on occasion that are not pleasant and are not welcome and are anchored in my adult awareness only because of some unmet need in childhood playing itself out over and over again, for years.
However, for whatever reason, the intent I carry around with me is to wrestle those feelings to the ground and extinguish them, and this intent is so strong that I am able to persevere, despite great odds not in my favor.
It's just so much more convenient and easier in this culture to drown the pain, and the power to heal it, in all sorts of delectable but equally heart-numbing addictions.
It's so much easier to ignore the observer persona in my personality toolbox, to disregard the awareness map we could be charting together of the triggering going on.
It's so much easier to close down the whole emotional factory altogether, and withdraw from the notion of relationship with other people, for good.
It's so much easier to get caught up in the blame game and not take responsibility for my feelings.
Except, it isn't.
It seems that way at the time, but none of those strategies is easier, at least for me, and I have tried all of them.
In fact, they have all proved over decades' worth of experimentation to be more difficult to stomach, to endure, to abide, than to finally submit to my intent.
Not everyone is built that way, but I think that the sheer numbers that find and support the work of Abraham-Hicks, Byron Katie, the material explored in the film What the Bleep Do We Know and in The Secret - the examples are endless, really - this attests to the fact that there ARE enough of us out there who ARE built that way.
The tribe grows, and we extend and tighten the fabric of connection among humanity as each new member surfaces.
Which makes it possible for me to conceive of the day when this poor deluded human joke actually gets told, related in tones of bemused compassion for the stuck beings we individually and collectively were, for however long.
Care to join me in dunking those bananas in chocolate, while properly disposing of the peels?
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