Waking up today in a daze, a quality of "something is wrong with me" and defeat. Went out for a short walk, and felt 'what's the point' a sense of weakness about life. Some indecision about going back to Toronto to take care of some important things.
The tendency is to give up on it, when things fall a part. Hiding, escaping, feeling like I can't do life. Noticing the worrying spinning, which seems to be the kind of energy system I'm used to from as long as I can remember.
Coming back to my room, and noticing the quality of light, the light bulb has some dust moving very gently, looking at the ceiling noticing that there is not really what I think of as empty space, just 'particles' sparkles moving. That's too much to even say of what's going on here.
Having the thought, "how can I be my strongest self, most powerful self what would that look like?
Nothing comes to mind.
Closing my eyes I see the same quality of the ceiling supposedly behind my eye balls, sparkles in darkness, movement. And echoes of shapes of looking at the light bulb in green or yellow or non-solid colors that keep morphing.
And I think is there even a self that can be strong, is there even a self that can be weak?
What is all that about? is that not more spinning of trying to grasp at what's going on here, which is unknown in human terms. In human logic.
Wanting desperately for my story to make sense, I'm important, apparently, most that I think about is my troubles, how I can make them right, how to make decisions, flipping back and forth, all just a mirage. Because it is not the only thing that is happening here, it's not even happening here, it's happening but as energy movement not as some sort of truth.
Looking around the room, lines are forming, shadows receding, a play of light, that's all. And even that too much to say,
What can you say in language that makes any sense of something that is illogical. of THIS.
Thoughts are a part of it, in fact are it. But not their specific contents, just like the TV, or the comforter don't mean anything in particular but have a certain quality of presence to them.
Is this true?
open question. No desire for an answer.
A movement to write, where did that arise from?
same place anything does.
The story recedes like that shadows. Not that it's not as important as the shadows, but not in the way we're used to thinking about the self importance of the story of me, just a part of the light show, not bad nor good. Even when it can feel bad or good. also just the light show, the energy show, each word fails, reality wins. It's just what's here always.
Always doesn't cut it, when there is no time. But again a movement to describe something.
A fullness delights in itself, no matter how limited it feels, a fullness is limitation. A fullness is seemingly a falling a part.
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