Don't Over Think It

Theme song: Good Times Bad Times

A friend of mine, we'll call her Haru, because that's what her name is, used to sometimes tell me, when I was in the midst of all out, full throttle complaining, "Anna, don't over think it."

Alright, it kind of bothered me to hear that, which can only be considered good fortune, because then I had yet one more thing to complain about.

Of course, back then, I didn't think to call it complaining. I called it "emoting" or "self-expression."

Then I learned, and this is going to sound ridiculous to many of you, that life is empty and meaningless.

Actually, I had already learned that when my daughter, Chloe, died. I learned that when you lose the very thing that means the most to you, when the very worst has occurred, that's when things are widest open.

My best friend and former lover, Kahlil Gibran, told me repeatedly:

. . . .the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

I thought he was referring to opposites, but he was actually referring to emptiness.

As an ayurvedic practitioner, I learned the spiritual importance of vata, which means movement, but also means nothingness.

It's easy to forget and difficult to remember that life is meaningless and empty.

In every situation, strip what's happening to the barest facts. For example, he said, "I'm not in love with you anymore." and she said, "You're late."

These words, like the well, like the cup, like the lute, mean nothing until you fill them with your own meaning.

Take Haru's advice. Don't over think it. Fill your cup with the movement of vata, the actions that, taken together, add up to a well-lived life.

Emptiness, friends. The place possibility dwells.