a self, aware

From an early age, I was introduced to the complex idea of self, it burned me over and over, it cause debilitating anxiety to the point of panic. I was brutally aware of my surrounding as inseparable from me and was constantly told to ignore such non-sense, death/pain is something to avoid and life/pleasure a seeking opportunity. This was a direct affliction to a self narrative, to still feel as though we are born into, but birth is only a beginning of determined form which is in constant transition to it’s dissolution, there was never a start to this, this interplay of contrast, I felt that intrinsically. A long time bastard of authority, I prod along, following the rules as though they have some utmost importance, the continuation of consciousness. To be aware of the mostly emptiness.

Realization comes in all sorts of flavors, colors, sounds, hinge moments, everyone has them and they are subtle intrusions. From the idea that you figured out where you left your keys, all the way thorough to everything is one, this duality.

I personally concocted adichotomy, non-duality was too spiritual and religion was too forced, they came with their own baggage. But I promise you this, it’s nothing particularly new, and it wasn’t invented as an aspect of ownership. Peoples desperate need to cling to the unyielding is the deepest from of suffering and that I’m, quite literally inhuman to not belabor loss as grief. When I grieve, I grieve for those still lost with loss, because they are hurting, suffering, I cannot get away for it and that’s ok, because I’m intrinsically reminded this too shall transcend and there is no other.