Day 211: On "Autobiography in Five Chapters"

So... today, yes I practiced. But yesterday, a wash. It's day 211, and really, I still don't feel like I've made practice into the automaton wake-up-and-smell-the-reed habit I had hoped to establish by this point. (The jury is out on whether the goal is realistic or not, of course.) The solution came to me (again) last night as I was falling asleep: If you don't do it first thing in the morning, it ain't gonna happen. Armed with that (re)discovery, I woke up, made tea, watched the weather, then went straight to the practice room. That worked. For today.

Infallible, I am not. But apparently, none of us are, as Portia Nelson so beautifully philosophizes in her poem "Autobiography in Five Chapters" (Presented in The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, p. 32:


1) I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost... I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in... it's a habit.
My eyes are open
I know where I am
It is MY fault.
I get out immediately.

4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

5) I walk down another street.