sweetness & lite

I've come to a point in my life where I'm having a hard time relating to people if they are not on some kind of spiritual path. At the base of all things, there is a lightness, a lack of gravity. An understanding of things as they are--impermanent.

And here is a mistake I've caught much sooner, I hope, than I caught on with punk rock. I remember the realization that just because a guy shaved his head or sported many safety pins or listened to Dag Nasty, he wasn't necessarily smart.

Luckily, smart's dropped down a few notches on the "icoulddohim" scale, though stupid remains a dealbreaker.

While a lack of interest in things spiritual is a dealbreaker, I'm in search of the sweet spot between camped out on the path and able to talk about it. The former reeks of a deadly earnest-y, the latter unable to truly do the work.

And perhaps I've just seen my own flaw in all this--but it's where I remain. If I accept things as truly impermanent, how can I mourn the loss of anyone or anything?

The Dalai Lama speaks of the ability to hold the world's sorrow in your heart even as you continue to love, which must include me. To acknowledge the sorrow means that it, too, is OK.