So I'm standing in a involving green wig and hot pink sweater on a street overflowing with population on either side. I'm smiling and waving my hands at population in a float, and somehow feeling invisible next to the offensive child to the right of me who is repeatedly screaming "Throw me something!"
She has been screaming this at everybody who comes by, even if they have nothing to throw. Her dad thinks this behavior is funny. I am somewhat appalled at the number of stuff raining down on her to bonus what in my eyes is greed. Nasty greed. Demanding hunger for more, more, more. In my mind I think, "Mister, you're raising a monster."
It's Mardi Gras. It's New Orleans. Some would say this excessiveness is the whole point. Of course, my ever present yoga mind has something to say about my own behavior. It starts with that age old wisdom; when you don't like something someone else man does, unquestionably you are finding in them a reflection of what you don't like about yourself. This kid, and her parents, and their friends who are somehow getting all the good stuff while I dance in my green wig, are offering to teach me something. Great.
First of all, I don't need two bags full of beads to take home. I'd unquestionably like to have some involving Led light ones to take back to my friends in Canada, and it would be cool if they'd throw me one of those reusable bags they've got, or a plush spear ('cause that's useful), but I'm not unquestionably implicated with shear number of stuff I catch.
I have to admit to myself at this point that I'm just a tiny bit jealous that these kids next to me have something like four of each of these things. They're not all yelling "Throw me something!" in a demanding tone of voice. The young ones are all cute and tired sitting on their boxed in platforms at the tops of ladders. Inventive. Very sufficient as a magnet for flying Mardi Gras paraphernalia. Some of their parents are doing the greed thing for them.
My inner conversation is something like this: "If you weren't attached to the outcome, or coveting things yourself, you wouldn't be bothered by any of this. Being judgmental isn't helping."
She yells "Throw me something!" again. I narrow my eyes at her dad, who is laughing with delight. The greed is contagious.
The parade moves on. The inner conversation continues. "Hey, cool costume. Fun music." I search for myself dancing to the marching band. They've got great rhythm. "See, she doesn't even consideration the band, all she's implicated with is Wanting. Okay. Does that make you bigger than she is, in all 10 years of her experience? Of procedure not. I probably wasn't too much dissimilar when I was her age. Though, I'm sure I didn't yell that phrase over and over with such arrogance. God I hope I didn't. Hey, here comes someone else float." I dance, smile, yell, and think within the confines of my green haired head, "Throw me something!" Well, maybe it's more like "Could I please have one of those flashy rings?"
This whole sense takes place in the context of Mardi Gras, which is the celebration of colorful fun and shameless partying. Historically, it was the big bang before giving something up for Lent. I don't know how many population here are unquestionably planning to refrain from a substance or habit after Mardi Gras, although perhaps some of them will come back into moderation. It is always an involving perspective to be totally sober in a mostly drunk (or totally sloshed in some cases) crowd of people. It is also involving to try not to judge them for their option to participate in this intoxication.
Because, really, who am I to judge? And where does it get me? What is the point? Does it help anything involved? "Well, no."
My boyfriend reminds me of this wisdom: these things (the whole option of shiny, Made in China beads, plush toys, plastic cups, and normal bling) are being dispersed as gifts. However, to truly accept a gift you must not expect it. If you can be happy without it, you are more able to receive it. Expectations keep trying to teach me that I'm unquestionably great off without them, as I sense a lot less dissatisfaction if I naturally allow life to surprise me with wondrous events and gifts rather than mental things should be a unavoidable way.
The parade continues. I keep dancing, laughing, and sharing my delight with the thousands of population lined up along the streets of New Orleans. There are superbly decorated floats lined with beautifully costumed riders throwing the coveted goodies. Horses walk past carrying masked men with capes all velvet and glitter behind them. Marching bands from dissimilar schools are led and followed by dancing girls with flags, pom-poms, and glowing batons. Rock bands ride by on their own floats. Trucks pull giant speakers blasting bass and beats for the more energetic dance troupes. The costumes and personalities are extravagant and endlessly creative, perhaps best exemplified by the 100 or so Elvi (Elvis impersonators) riding by on very tiny scooters.
Amidst the fantastic stimuli man pops a can of confetti, and strips of green, gold, and purple paper floats in the air. One of the riders throws an whole bag of Led light rings to my neighbor, a very nice lady to my left. She distributes her score, giving out all but two rings for her and her husband. Now I have a involving plastic jewel on my hand. How nice of her to share!
I catch a few of the bigger beads, and as I turn nearby I see the content, kind elderly folks behind me. One gentleman doesn't have any of these big beads yet, and I already have a heavy collection nearby my neck, so I slip a green set over his head and give the others to the concentrate from Ohio. They promised their house sitter that they'd bring some back to her. The wife is overjoyed with it all.
I notice, as I place the beads nearby the neck of this beaming woman, that I feel So good! I love giving! It feels a whole lot great than pining after some trinket being thrown to the kids and their loud parents. I stand in the middle of a polarity of unassuming elders and frenzied young families in my own state of peace. My grin grows.
Then I start bouncing to the current flavor of music and turn back to the float rolling toward me. I tip my head up to them, loving the craziness of it all, put my hands up, let out a whoop, and don't care if the throws land in my hands or not. I'm here for the fun of it. For the spirit of camaraderie and debauchery. For the inner increase and elation that is the most profound gift of the night. Oh! And that diminutive pink plush octopus! Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
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