In the midst of our internal battles, the answers often elude us — but sometimes, it’s in the uncertainty itself where the journey begins.
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Our battles are ours alone. The swirl of external circumstances may challenge or shape us, but the war is always within.
I don’t know what the hell to do.
And that’s a good place to start. It’s raw. It’s real. It’s the truth of you breaking through the chaos, cracking the polished facade. You don’t have to know what to do — not all the time.
For ages, our culture has fixated on doing, endlessly subverting deeper aspects of our humanity to sustain a system built on productivity, sustenance, and economy.
Where are the ancient tales of great banks, corporations, mortgages, and concrete? Do tribal leaders, chiefs, gurus, priests, shamans, or storytellers gather around to recount those? Hell no.
The oldest stories are about life’s essence: love, art, myths, and legends; battles, ascension, and spiritual transformation. They’re about shapeshifting, mastering the elements, dancing with nature spirits, and honoring family.
We’ve carried lies within us for so long that we question our sanity — but rarely do we question the constructs that gave rise to the insanity. We guard our little spaces and collections of things so fiercely that we’ve forgotten the greater cohesion, the source of all that is, leaving us to believe we’re insignificant, separate, and small.
No. I don’t know what the hell to do.
But I can feel. I can hurt, now and again — for myself and for you. Resolve comes not through avoidance but through feeling: the ache, the stagnation, the frustration, even the madness.
Through it all, I welcome the beautiful retrospective, the cleaner slate, the naked canvas.
Solvitur ambulando
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