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Foamed-up earholes

I used earplugs for the first time during meditation. I have a trove of them for muffling the roar of cymbals and drums when I play music, but due to neighborly respect, I've restricted my thunder to the hard-quiet thwap of electronic pads and a set of headphones through which only I can hear the simulacra of 110 different assorted drum sets. 

I have more than I know what to do with, is all I mean. And today, with the sounds of Little Women streaming through the walls from my living room, I figured I would leave my better half undisturbed to consume Winona Ryder and Christian Bale at whatever volume level she desired. Sound waves not totally absorbed by the walls and various surroundings were more or less tempered to a suitable level for sitting concentration. At one point, when some higher-frequencied operatic goings-on were commanding my attention more than the muffled *lub-lub* of unrecognizable dialogue, I started wondering if the television in the other room or the violent orange earplug slowly birthing its way out of its coiled form in my ear hole was the more distracting. The TV was then turned off, so I was left with the creepy feeling that a snail was unfurling its sluggy meat and reaching out into the air. I also started imagining my ears housing intumescent reactions of sodium bicarbonate in the form of neon Pharaoh's Snakes. 

Then my heart announced itself more pronouncedly than before, its thump seemingly irregular and conjuring images of the lumbering, mute, hirsute Looney Toon member, Gossamer, dancing out a tap routine inside a rubber room while drunk and dizzy from medication. It was arrhythmic, is all. Not so unusual for myself. It was interesting to be more aware of it, though. I had to force breath down into my body because letting aspirations take themselves was leaving me feeling shallow and short of appropriate oxygen delivery. I can't tell if it really slowed my heart at all, but I felt a little bit better if only under the illusion of control. Then my timer went off. It wasn't all an ecstatic experience, and a bit distracting, but it made me feel at least like I edged out a fraction of a diametric unit by expanding my awareness of my circulatory process and its influence on my state of mind. I'm predisposed to neuroses and have always had marginally high blood pressure, so it has blipped on my radar that I might want to keep an eye on potential aortic-quaking factors. I should probably kick or notch down the caffeine intake, but as I jettison damnable vices here and there, I tend to hold more firmly to the ones I have left. I don't drink, smoke, or ingest illicit substances at this stage of the game, so what I have left are an all-consuming intolerance for any lack of excess in caffeine and a ravenous desire for junk food. Exercise in excess used to balance this all out, but since I'm finding less time to hone my physical body by devoting more time to studying, these indulgences take their toll with a bit more corrosive enthusiasm. 

I'm trying to devote more time to meditation, but I also want to direct more purpose to the practice. Sometimes I feel like I'm just zoning out with my eyes closed and chastising myself every few seconds for letting my mind buck around like a wild mare. I've got loads of books on the stuff, but I lack the commitment to one dedicated route. While I know it isn't the best approach, I have apparently chosen to carve my own path with psychic miscegenation. This is a choice I'm more and more willing to correct through finding how directionless and confusing it can be. 


Posted: 5 years ago

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