Crazy Train on Auto-Pilot

Have you ever opened a pack of M&Ms, tossed a couple in your mouth, chewed happily and then went back for a few more only to find the pack empty? 

We think, "What the hell? Who ate all my M&Ms?!" In our saner moments we glance around and quickly realize that we're by ourselves and WE ate our M&Ms while WE weren't paying attention. In our less sane moments we may actually get up, walk over to our friend or colleague or sister and accusingly ask them, "DID YOU EAT ALL MY M&MS?!" 

New Bag = New Possibilities

This is a relatively harmless scenario, unless we actually get up and make irrational accusations, but in the big scheme of things, harmless. But our inattentiveness doesn't stop at the vending machine. How often these phrases come out of our mouths:

"What was I thinking?"

"I can't believe I said that."

"Was that Do Not Enter sign there before?"

"Did I have these wrinkles around my eyes yesterday?"

I've said every one of these - and others - on more than one occasion and that's ok because in most cases they can be remedied. But what we should be thinking about, in addition to these moments, is what we will say when we're at the end of our current life experience. Because at that point, we're kinda out of time for remedies. 

To stay on the positive side of things, let's consider what we would like to say. Personally, I want to be able to own my life as much as my death - if that's even possible. I want to be able to say, "I loved and was loved. I healed and was healed. I was compassionate and received compassion. I was peaceful and received peace. Let's do this."

But if we can't even pay attention to the M&Ms we eat, how can we get to the point where we are so attentive to each moment of our entire life experience that we're not caught off guard by that empty feeling, but rather can anticipate and accept it? 

I've got that empty feeling...

I think it starts by, 1) waking up, 2) intentionally turning off the auto-pilot, 3) listening to ourselves in order to know ourselves, and 4) making decisions for ourselves rather than getting swept up by the current of group think that is raging all around us. 

At least, I think this is how it's happening for me...how is it happening for you?

To be continued...

Why we're going off the rails on a crazy train (or, What Ozzy Osbourne can teach us about mindfulness & the Law of Attraction)

Whether we know it or not, most of us are on a crazy train, spiritually speaking. We might not be going off the rails yet but we are blindly and unconsciously putting our life experiences in the hands of an unknown Conductor.

But the joke's on us.

We're the Conductor.

Or, we're supposed to be. And yet here we sit in the passenger car, seat-belted into a worn yet still-plushy blue-gray seat, elbows atop on narrow, plastic arm rests, feet on the retractable foot-rest that's bolted into the base of the seat in front of us. Our eyes, two glazed orbs gazing out the window to a blurry, image stew causing our brains to behave haphazardly, unable to focus, thinking about anything and everything.

Sometimes the Conductor stops and opens the doors to experiences donning the costumes of whatever and whomever have made up our thoughts. Fortune, misfortune. Pleasure, displeasure. Ease, disease. Wellness, hellness.

We enjoy the company of fortune and pleasure and ease and wellness but we get rather upset with the Conductor when misfortune, displeasure, disease, and hellness respond to the, “All aboard!”

There comes a time when we get so upset about these miscreants sharing the same car as we that we unbuckle our seat belts, stand up confidently and stride, hands placed alternately on the tops of the seat-backs as we pass so as to steady our shaky convictions, up to the Conductor's door. We knock and slide the door open.

The Conductor is slumped its seat, unconscious, head resting slack against the window, blue-and-white-striped hat askew. Alarmed, we shake the Conductor's shoulder and groggily the head swivels toward us, revealing a bit of drool in the corner of the mouth and suddenly we are face-to-face with ourselves. With a start we back away because how.can.this.be.?

It's only then we notice the tennis ball-sized red light that's blinking on the dashboard. The white text on its surface reads, “Auto Pilot.”

To be continued...