Life has a funny, yet brutal way of escorting us back to the sore spots. Sometimes, they’re so well masked we didn’t know they were still causing us harm, just beneath the surface of our process of clumsily clambering for understanding and self-realization.
The purest part of us desires deeply that we should feel alive, and truly savoring every moment. When and as we drift from this calm center, the desperate measures abound, and superficial salves and bandages are rarely sufficient to prevent the apparent loss of meaning and mindfulness, bleeding out into the abyss of routine and preset rigmarole.
Original presence calls across the din of the ordinary. It glazes our eyes at the predictable and plain, dressed up as celebrity and self-importance, bold headlines, conforming notions of the pedantic and trite, the ongoing missteps of passing generations, and the loudness of rampant hubris in the fading West.
We, as life, employ self-correcting methods, individually and collectively, to balance the boat, and right the rudder. Accordingly, time is not a constant. In the immediate, we may hear or feel something that hurts; we see or experience minor or massive acts of violence.
Do we reach for the familiar? To react as expected? Do we grab the moment by the throat and yell, “Wait a fucking second… What is this, now?” Do we step forward, with the power of recognition and self-awareness — a broader, inclusive scope? Or, do we trip and fall backward, utilizing the same old cynicism or indifference, drama and conditioning?
Our bodies will only hold out for so long. Our minds, for maybe even less — unless we deliberately engage in the pulse of the vast, untamed world beyond our practiced defenses and instilled programs.
Time and time again, we will be given opportunities. Look again. Listen closer. Be open. Elevate.