AIRPORT HAND GRENADES

I'm sitting in the airport at 1:00am awaiting a 6:45 flight to LA. A woman in her sixties that appears to be very well kempt approaches me and motions toward the outlet that was wedged between my bags and the chair. I move my bags to reveal the outlet, she plugs in and promptly sits on my bags. Hrmph. I pull my stuff from beneath this woman's oblivious ass so that she can have the chair. I noticed her over stuffed lips as she sat on the edge of her seat waiting for her phone to charge as if she was fueling her SUV and the top-off was imminent...just hurried and tweaked and tense and wound real tight.

I'm hurling lightning bolts of judgment at this lady. Just chucking daggers of hate like; "look at this privileged bitch." And before I know it I'm enshrouded in this tar-like muck of frustrated contempt while contemplating the audacity of her entire existence. 

The moment passes. I get distracted or whatever it is that Buddhists call the 'worldly winds' when, in your mind you travel from emotional space to emotional space. I suddenly find myself in a new moment not even thinking about the lady until she reappears behind me and to the right talking on the now presumably juiced up phone.

She's weeping. No, she's sobbing. No, she's balling. This woman is crying that kind of deep wounded cry that takes your breath away. The kind of cry that has you hiccuping and snotting and convulsing. She's body crying. And I can tell she's trying real hard to keep it together so this isn't some needy show. This is real. She's broken.

My heart sunk for her. Our realities are so different in this moment, but I've cried like that and chances are I'm probably gonna cry like that again real soon, so I began holding space for her. I almost turned around to acknowledge her. I wanted to comfort her.

Within moments my relationship with this woman darted from one side of the chart to the other. I started thinking about how gross it was for me to have flung those hate grenades at her atop whatever pillar it was I thought I could stand on and judge from.

She's not a bitch. She's broken. She isn't being inconsiderate, she's fucked up and she's mustering whatever sanity she can to get it together enough to just be in this airport and make this phone call. And me and my arrogant sanctimony shove her into this dark judgment cave. What a dick.

We need to practice displacing judgment with compassion and shave the ego down to a less jagged pill. Myself included. I don't like the way it feels when I'm found trudging through the judgment swamp. It's gross and counterintuitive. It distracts us from the real work of creating love.

I've been doing this practice lately of living my life from this objective 3rd person view. Like some 'Being John Malchovich' shit. Just letting myself be whoever it is I am and do whatever it is I do but paying attention and adjusting accordingly. Even when I'm not being my best self (especially then.) There becomes this added dimension of consciousness that allows you to see what you're up to and maybe even why. It caused me to pause and consider how I was being a jerk to this lady and wasting my life force in some cosmic crack house called hate. But it's practice. I'll probably throw another hate grenade at some point but I'm becoming more aware of those moments and eventually I'll be able to start putting the pins back in and launching a fluffy rainbow love balloon instead. 

I know. The fluffy love balloon line is cringeworthy and disgusting and you're judging me for it. So start with that.