I feel broken apart shattered. Noticing it and how these definitions do no justice at all. I have no definition but my mind wants to continuously make one out of anything. Whatever. I feel I can focus on anything and that becomes a seeming reality. Great blessings and gratitude.
I try to consider, what am I resisting? Something? Anything? Is it just a feeling of being a body I feel? Sometimes it's more clear. I notice my tension and let it go. I feel without my own definition or purpose and the thought that wants to be disconcerted hasn't fully deserted and I assume I must get used to the echo.
There are these transition phases it seems... the inbetweens feel like slow falling sometimes. Nothing to hold onto. Thinking free fall and nothing to do with it. I feel sometimes easier to detach from my body, but I struggle with thoughts of things to do. Packing for the trip. Taking care of
****. But if I don't mind minimalism, everything is perfect going through this. It's a lot though on every level circumstantially and by the meaning I give it. Not wanting to let too much go.
Sometimes the paradox just above my head is simply bypassed by knowing the thinker and seeing how it's all working to create an illusion of thinking and meaning out of a duality that holds no truth really. But it's something to see. Or is it? I feel easily fooled by it or rather by the fool I recognize as me.
It is funny from a certain perspective, but what are perspectives really? What is this ride that only one is on cohesively? Why do we even try to define it? And who do I mean by we? What am I imagining? It seems a thin barrier to everything and the aspect of mind that does, keeps on wanting to know things based on the way stuff seems which is always changing and has no baring really except by interpretation to whatever, whoever, myself seems to be a part of out there.
Maybe what I am trying to get at is attempting to understand a lingering desire to define
****. Maybe defining
**** is what diffuses it. Saying '
****' feels good right now. Ok I'm over it.
Every moment is a new moment and there's a holding on too. A tension and desire to ... communicate maybe. To just try to understand what it is I am going through. But why try when it really can't be defined from that angle. Why do I linger and not take a leap more often. I feel safe somehow in the not knowing and not minding it. Like my pain tolerance is both tightened and lessened simultaneously.
**** it. Too much thinking about it, I am imagining a struggle with my own mind and from that angle there is no solution because the struggle doesn't really exist. It's just an unfolding, transition time, whatever, however I want to define it for the moment. In the next it will change and I'll probably wonder why I made anything of it at all.