Bad habits. I still like to party on the weekends. The workweek comes to a close and I get the Gay Man’s itch – no, not that kind – and feel like I have to go out; I need culture, I need socialization… I need booze! For quite a while there I was at least saving it for the weekend. Now every once in a while I’m having wine during the workweek again. It certainly wouldn’t be a problem if I knew how not to drink the whole damn bottle, but alas…
It also wouldn’t be much of a problem if I didn’t realize how many energetic channels it clogs up. Something interesting in a book on Neigong I’m reading, one eventually becomes so sensitive to energy that one tends to give up drinking entirely because hangovers seem to last for days. I’M THERE. It seems no matter how little I drink, if it’s more than just a few glasses of wine, I’ll be feeling it three days later. The state it puts me in is so annoying and distracting and frustrating, it’s a wonder I still drink at all. How can one so compelled by the energy work he’s doing practically every day throw cultivation out the window for a few moments of unadulterated silliness?
I am the Lust card. “I am the Snake that giveth Knowledge and Delight and bright glory, and stir the hearts of men with drunkenness. To worship me take wine and strange drugs whereof I will tell my prophet, and be drunk thereof! They shall not harm ye at all. It is a lie, this folly against self. The exposure of innocence is a lie. Be strong, O man! lust, enjoy all things of sense and rapture: fear not that any God shall deny thee for this.”
True… but what about the morning after? As Picard was once inclined to say, “Enough of this self-indulgence.”
Moving on to lighter subjects, lately I’m feeling drunk on love. Oh, yes. Romantic love. Cheesy, corny, beautiful, butt-crazy puppy love. Just when you stop searching – assuming you’ve done enough to set the wheels of personal abundance karma in motion (yeah, I just made up that term) – the Universe goes “PSYCH!” and hands you a love to rival Tristan and Iseult, Romeo and Juliet… Harry and Sally. The Universe hands you something so pure, it’s impossible to look at it in any light whatsoever without seeing its innocence, its beauty, its idyllic perfection. I’m not just waxing poetic here; this love is scaring the shit out of me. As a rule I avoid absolutes and absolute categorization; nothing is perfect and everything can change. But I use my intuition, my Spiritual sight, and I’m nearly moved to tears every time because no matter how hard I try to see the flaws in this love, they’re just not there. There’s nothing in our way.
To have him closer would perhaps make me clean up my act a little, but that’s ultimately a lie. I could see it starting that way then falling back into my old habits. And yet to be drunk on love, wholly, fully satiated on the beauty the Universe has made physical before your eyes, who the hell needs wine?