Thursday, October 13, 2022
When my legs push me ahead, as if they had somewhere better to be, I am not myself. When my eyes flit about, unable to focus on a single object for more than a nanosecond, I am not myself. When my temper flares at the slightest provocation, I am not myself. When I am fidgety, and I cannot sink into a common place of grounded comfort, I am not myself. When my mind interrupts me all day, and tells me that I am no good; that this moment is undesired; and that I need to get to the other side, I am not myself.
When the future and the past are all I can think about, I am not myself. When I keep thinking something is wrong, desperately trying to fix it, I am not myself. When I think I am waiting, and I become irritated and foul, I am not myself. When I rush, I am not myself. When I think something is missing in my life, I am not myself. When I condemn others, or simply try to please them all the time, I am not myself. When I condemn the present moment, I am not myself.
I am no more myself, than when right here and right now are enough. I am no more myself, than when my mind is quiet. I am no more myself, than when I accept what is. I am no more myself, than when I can look out of the window, and notice creation – the vast array of contrasting, textured colors. Lime green blades and branches, golden yellow leaves, bright orange hues on dappled foliage, deep blue sky above, burnt umber earth below, and fleshy pink flowers, all for my eyes. I am no more myself, than when I see myself in nature – peaceful, perfect, and serene. I am no more myself, than when I see myself in the face of others.