CrankyBuddhist   the learning never ends …

My life is utter chaos. That’s ok, because I’ve learned to sit and be the calm within the storm, sometimes getting kicks off of watching the swirl of energy around me, but sometimes there is a second level chaos in my life that is so subtle it goes unnoticed for awhile. Kind of like a virus, where it sits replicating and then when given the chance it explodes onto the scene with a big ‘Hey, I’m here!’.

So, right now, now being a rather big now because it’s been a few weeks since this now began, I have had some chaos stirring in my life. Call it itchy feet. Or roots trying take hold. Yes, in my life these two things can both happen simultaneously. The base feeling is being fed up. Fed up with what I’m doing, or rather not doing, and where I am.

I’ve worked on being happy with what I have, or don’t have. I’ve sat in contentment while thinking this is it, this is all my life is about, a VW bus and a couple of web sites. I’ve worked on letting go of my ambition. But these last few weeks I’ve just gotten fed up with all of it. My life should be more, I should be able to live in something larger that a five foot by ten foot tin can, or other people’s houses.

What brought all of this on this morning?

I forgot to pay the bill for my P.O. Box.

I’ve had that P.O. Box for fourteen years. It’s been the one constant thing in my life. I was rumaging around some papers today and found the bill for the annual fee. I remember getting it and thinking I should pay it right away, but then I set it down again and something got put on top of it and then the rest is history.

So I’m thinking about how this is kind of the tipping point for the subtle secondary level of chaos. See how subtle it is? My breaking point is over something so trivial as a post office box.

But, unfortunately the box really isn’t trivial. It’s my lifeline to the three dimensional world. It’s how I connect to folks who aren’t virtual. Though I can’t even count, or even remember, how many places I’ve lived in the last fourteen years, people knew they could always reach me, eventually, through the box.

As I was walking the dog this morning, I thought about changing my thinking on this. The possibility of having lost the P.O. Box may in actuality be a very freeing thing. I’ve been thinking about leaving The Bay Area for so long, that maybe this is one way that my subconscious is telling me to go, git, skedaddle.

Now if it could just tell me where …