At least if I ever have to take a vow of poverty, it won’t change my life very much. Not much at all. #broke
Just stay. Stay with the feeling. Strip it down like punk song; raw, bare, basic, yet powerful. Lovingly feel it. Then let it go into your own emptiness.
Most things you let go of—almost everything that you experience in a day. Some things you hold on to, you stuff in your backpack and carry with you. Regrets are bricks, and bricks are heavy. I was ready again, ready to be empty.
Be still. Stop grasping. Stop craving. Stop wanting. Stop running away. Breathe. Eventually, the small empty spaces open up. They expand. No cocoon anymore. I feel exposed. I feel fear and sadness. I’m here to face my fear, to face myself, to look inside and see. I’m here to experience myself, to feel for myself and not through someone else. Do I surrender? Do I give in? I try to relax and let the sadness and fear in, and I experience it fully. I don’t run from it or hide from it. I don’t try to cover it up or make it go away. I just let it do what it wants to do, and I own it. It feels like a fever. I burn with it. No one is here. It’s just me. No distractions. I just sit. Who the fuck am I?
It’s not terrible. Fundamentally, I find there is nothing wrong with me. I’m OK. I have a hard time nailing down exactly who I am because, essentially, I’m never the same person twice. If I seem like the same person, it’s probably an identity I constructed, a mask or a shield. The real me is flowing energy, constantly changing and evolving. Always moving.