Fluid Dance With Unknowingness.
Dear Friends,
It was indeed a struggle to drag my ass out of bed to write this letter to you. As usual, I'm spinning in yet another bubble of intense feeling. Geez, I don't have a high-quality emotion regulation strategy right now, which leaves me feeling a lot worse.
I managed to spend my day asking myself so many questions: What am I thankful for? Where am I headed from here? Why am I trapped here? I didn't even get a response to these queries.
It has been a little more than two years since I embarked on this quest to reinvent myself. It isn't my first time here. I've been here about six times (perhaps seven or eight) in my lifetime. Infact, It's frustrating to have to say informal good-byes to people that I genuinely care about for another round of skin shedding. I hope they understand the need to explore this adventure alone.
Nobody ever prepared me for the challenges of this trip. I observe the evenings darken every day, hoping that the sun will rise the very next day. Yet, the nights seem to be getting darker. I stare at the ceiling all night, watching the reels of my former life through the lenses of the chapters of the books I absorb throughout the day. Every day, I beat myself for missing such quintessential insights about life.
This cycle seems to be a call towards something bigger than me. It's strange, and I don't even get it yet. I've studied loads of books and about 2000 articles, if not more, in a quest to find the answers. Hell, I still struggle to put into words why I am being called to eat in filthy restaurants and commute by public transit so that I can embody the way of life of "the commons" that I usually sense from afar.
At the very same time, I am also expected to flip pages and make logical sense of people's everyday life experiences whenever I observe them. These types of foods cause constipation. And I can't tolerate the screams that I hear whenever I look at the faces of fellow footbridge users. I don't understand why the daemon selected me for this hypnotic real-time experience. Why me, man?
The idea of the daemon is what I consider to be the closest interpretation to what is nudging me and whistling "go here" or "do this." It feels like riding with the deities and guiding spirits. It feels like tuning in to the rhythm of listening and following. I sense that the daemon is inviting me to be a spooky artist; it's urging me to start holding spaces with a therapeutic effect.
To build traction for this call, it decided to create a visible part of itself by developing The Burning Seat. I feel uncomfortable with having the power to influence people cognitively, and I don't think I want this responsibility either. But I'm gravitating towards these unfamiliar territories because I'm eager to see where they take me.
Anytime I go through the days debating my life choices, these soothing words from my hermit friend immediately spring to mind:
Periods of tranquility and relative stability, the metaphorical eyes in the storm, are wonderful opportunities to rest, integrate, recharge, and a welcome chance to refine one’s vision.
At some point, I expect this episode of depressed feelings to go away.
Perhaps, because we cannot escape the discomfort that comes with reintegration, we need to embrace it. Well, I am going to learn to trust the daemon, continue to do my sun salutations to the moon, and dance with the juicy unknowingness that has chosen me.
Written with Love
Chop