Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Scorched Earth


It’s no great surprise that the Sanskrit word for old habits or patterns is “samskara.” Even the word sounds like scarring.

And although we all know that chicks dig scars (and dudes, too. Let’s be honest.), in this sense, samskara is not a good thing. It is the neural pathways we wear down by doing the same thing over and over. It is why the carpet in our house has a groove and our shoes are worn down in the same way. It’s why the dog looks at us funny if we walk down a different road.

Habits. Patterns. Drudgery. Routine. Stagnation.

I would be super easy to stalk (and, let’s be honest, to rob also, except I have two dogs who would probably rip your arm off if you tried to come into the house uninvited. So there’s that.). I follow the same pattern, have the same routine, for everyday tasks. Dane used to laugh at me because I wash my face the same way, every time, without exception. I follow the same pattern when I wake up every morning. The dogs know where to stand for their breakfast and their joint supplements, and you could set your clock by the cat (who knows when everything gets started).

So getting out of samskara is painful, like slashing open a scar. Except it’s not really all that hard after you get that 4 a.m. phone call and wind up with a dead husband. After that, the scariest thing is falling into the old patterns, not learning from the experience, and taking things for granted.

As previously mentioned, I am an all-or-nothing kind of girl. This may not be evident in everyday life, necessarily, but where it matters I like to swing for the fence. So moving is simultaneously a big deal and nothing much at all. More moving parts this time, but not much different than loading up the Civic and heading west. Or north. Or south.

The scariest part for me is the possibility of scorched earth. Utter destruction in my wake. There is always that possibility. Make one choice here…yikes.

Unless I don’t get caught.

Which, in and of itself, is an old pattern.

Which patterns are so much a part of you that you barely know they exist? For better or worse?

Image by stephen jones via Flickr

No comments:

Post a Comment