getting down with my shit

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Sometimes I think the whole business of spiritual endeavor boils down to this: No matter how much you shit, literally, there is always more where that came from. How many times does anyone have a bowel movement in their lives? Lots and lots seems like a fair guess. And the relief that comes with the completion of one particular bowel movement is satisfying. It suggests that something has ended ... "Whew! That really hits the spot!"

But, based on long-standing and concrete evidence, that's not the end at all. Satisfying? Yes. Finished? Never.

And if this metaphor rings any bells or has any usefulness, perhaps it encourages a mind upgrade -- some change of understanding about the shit that comes along in life. Good and bad seems pretty childish. Elevated and debased seems a bit puerile. Shit happens. It will happen again. So why do I have all these views about good shit and bad -- couldn't I find a better use for my time? It's not as if shit is going to stop an account of my elevated, religio-philosophical observations about it.

I know, I know ... we can all go off on smirky tangents about shit happening and being constipated and getting the runs and so forth. But seriously, isn't it a pretty good teacher. Over and over and over again, shit. Over and over and over again, I express my views or seek to escape life's shit or create arabesques of serenity and peace ... or some other shit.

Wouldn't it be better to put on a more realistic pair of glasses or maybe get rid of the glasses altogether?

If you can't run and you can't hide and you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear ... then what's the point in trying? Well, the point is ... ME. But since the shit keeps coming, ME doesn't appear to be a very effective tool, does it? Me and my shit ... time for an attitude adjustment, n'est-ce pas?