The Alarm is Not the Emergency

Feeling bad is not the emergency, it’s the alarm.

Hearing the alarm is the opportunity to sing the tone.

The alarm sounds for me to remember to sing the tone.

Only if the alarm has sounded for quite a long while do I expect there is any sort of emergency. The alarm, for me, sounds ahead of the emergency.

In truth, the alarm is quite canary-like at first.

First, there is a silence, where my loving and appreciating goes offline.

If my attention remains where it is, then the alarm starts, faintly.

I don't like this. This is boring.

Then it gets louder.

What is wrong with this person? I don't like them.

Then it gets louder.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I get along with people? Why can't I change this person's mind, why can't I correct their misperception? Why did they say that thing? Why didn't I say this response?

And it can go on and on at this fever pitch.

From there, it's so easy to examine the alarm. Why does it sound like this? What could be making this sound? Where is this sound coming from, exactly?

This is what lands me in the thick of an emergency, finally.

As sure as if I were committed to being there.

It's like when I wake in the middle of a nightmare of someone chasing me, and I try to go back to sleep so I can get away.

Oh, when I start a story, how I do love resolution.

I had to settle myself with many unsatisfying resolutions to get to a place where the story doesn't start.

I had to turn away from loud alarms and choose to sing the tone.

I had to learn to reserve all my desire to investigate the alarm and find the emergency and end the emergency; I chose to use that energy to find the tone and start singing it.

It is frustratingly, unsatisfyingly simple.

There is something here and now which is sweet and fascinating, which is good for me and which would offer me delight, luxury, decadence, wonder, warmth. This is true of every moment, and it is a matter of attentional investment to find it and stay with it.