Day Thirteen Revisited

The wrinkled and stained card called to me again today, so I decided to read Verse 13 again. And again. Two parts of it jumped out at me.

One.

Love the whole world as if it were yourself; then you will truly care for all things.

At first glance, this line makes sense. But upon further thought, I find that overall it just doesn't quite work for me.

If I loved the world as if it were myself, for most of my life I wouldn't be loving it very much. In fact, there would be too many occasions when I would despise it. Also, the more I find that I love myself, I naturally love the whole world too; there is no efforting in that task.

I'm probably just missing something in my interpretation.

Two.

Receiving favor and losing it both cause alarm.

What comes up for me here is the old adage I love about not ever taking anything personally. It feels so good when I can hear someone say something 'positive' about myself, or something 'negative' about myself, and neither comment has an impact on my equanimity. This reaction doesn't happen very often, but when it does, it feels good: grounded, solid and centered. It's not that I discount others' opinions; it's just that I allow them to be without having them impact my own state of mind. I don't have to shut myself down or become defensive when I hear a complaint or a judgment, or swell up when I receive a compliment. When I do, I do, but when I don't, it sure feels strong.

This also reminds me of something that happened yesterday. I spent many hours in the presence of someone who was in a very gloomy mood. I had been feeling great until that moment, but discovered that I almost immediately took on his mood. A sense of depression and gloom penetrated my own being. I could feel it happening, and wondered why in the world I was allowing it to affect me. It was a real challenge to pull myself out of it; it felt like a vortex was pulling me down, down, down into its center.

This reaction doesn't happen all of the time; sometimes I don't take on others' energy at all. After musing on the variance, I came up with this idea. My reaction seems to depend upon how the 'gloomer' handles it: he either tries to hold in all of the energy he is feeling and won't discuss it or let it flow, or he acknowledges it in some way, even with a few simple words. In the latter case, I can immediately honor his space and separate myself and let him be without taking the feelings on.

When the 'gloomer' is not outwardly expressing the sentiments, it feels like he creates a black hole energy field that draws me in like heavy gravity. But, when there is even the slightest outward movement involved, the flow breaks up the field and allows me to un-suck myself from this space. It is certainly a lesson for myself, to remember that when I begin to fall into my own inner darkness, to do whatever I can to proactively reach out and connect in even a small way, so as to diffuse the darkness that I may be creating for others.

I imagine that this process may be more common for those who are introverted, and the inverse may be true for those who are more extroverted.

I wonder if anyone else has had the experience of this dynamic occurring in their lives? Does this resonate for you? Do you also notice that sometimes, when you are with someone who is in a down mood, that it can either feel contractive or expansive? I find that when the other person just seems to want to sit in his pain, and maybe even bring others down into his sinking orbit, that I often want to run away. However, if the person is experiencing the pain with a larger goal of healing it, I can feel the difference, and am more likely to stay present and supportive to the process.