February Blues And Staying ALIVE

dead tree

I feel like such a hypocrite writing these posts sometimes. “Impostor syndrome” I’ve heard it called.

Fucking ALIVE.

Awareness
Love
Integrity
Vitality
Excellence

All the things I most want, my highest values, my priorities, my truth. And I feel so far away from them so often. They say we teach what we most need to learn.

And so we persist. Gravitating towards the edges of what we recognize as most nearly real and sustainably pleasurable.

All this energy in our heads serves us well until it doesn’t anymore. Until we realize that our above-average intelligence is a by-product of feeling unsafe in our bodies. The underlying story: “My body is not safe, so I’ll refocus awareness in my head where I can figure things out.”

But that’s not working so well anymore.

What I hate sometimes is that it takes so much energy to heal.

It takes energy to heal.

I’ve paid thousands of dollars over the last few years to begin seriously healing. (Money ~ Energy –in case you hadn’t gotten that one yet.) I’ve invested LOADS of time into practicing healing.

I feel sad and hopeless when I think of my friends whom I doubt will win the battle. I imagine they’ll die before they realize they’ve mis-invested their energy. Better luck next life, I guess.

The truth is I’m bitter against my creator for setting it all up this way. Why did you make it so damn hard!? Did I want it this way? Did I really ask for this? Maybe I was so fucking bored with whatever I was doing before that I dreamed up this new “challenge mode” to play. Goddammit.

But at least we have each other. And we have a shot. I’ve been hopeless before, and I’m not hopeless in this moment. The whole world now seems to be teetering on the edge of the point of no return. What’s that physics term they use? Total capacity? Breaking point? Melt down? I don’t remember.

Oh yeah, “critical mass.”

Either way, death is probably just a new beginning.

It’s February again, could you tell? Fucking February.

This is the longest I’ve gone without alcohol or weed since I first used the substances in college.

I know the only way out is through. It’s the lesson I’ve been learning the last few years.

But god dammit it’s the patience part that sucks.

A dream here, a voice there. A few days of release followed by weeks of silence. A burst of anger, lost friends, several new friends who might not walk away when I show them my pain. #blessed.

I forgive you for turning your back on me. It hurt, but I needed the practice with the pain. And it’s all for the best, right?

All is well.

And it’s probably just February.

Love,

Aaron

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