Sleep deprivation
***
Guilt
Sense-making and maps of meaning
Revisiting memories
Crying
Staying away from scary corners of my mind
Deliberately going toward scariness
Not resisting
Yes resisting
Respecting resistance
Compulsive tv watching
Dropping or letting go over and over again
Exploring
Curiosity
Forgetting and then remembering that it’s all happening on its own, noticing this, knowing this, realizing this
Realizing that realization comes and goes on its own
Being in love with everything
Crying
Playing with time and concepts
Craving emptiness
Love
Catastrophizing
Ranking what "works" (i.e. sleep deprivation is effective), noticing that the metric of “effective” and "works" is = resulting in greater illusions of "forgetting" with a capital F
Loving everything
Being everything
Self-flagellation
Not really believing any of the stories or narratives
Procrastinating
Being irresponsible
Getting off on self-loathing
Forcing intimacy
Compassion, large, whole, unrelenting, everywhere
Oversharing
Falling in love with a homeless person at a traffic stop
Being bored and sad and hopeless and desperate
Remembering inherent wholeness
Being stubborn
Getting out of the way always feels like dying
Loving dying
Loving mourning dying
Dramatizing dying
Wanting to be seen and loved
Self-loathing
Intensity
Craving intensity
Hating craving intensity
Knowing that nothing is a problem
Suffering
Being impatient
Being very very patient
Feeling like I don’t belong in the world, like people and things and money and social media are alien, foreign and scary
Feeling like I am the world
Forgetting that knowing how to verbalize isn’t the same as knowing
Wanting knowing with words to be the same as Knowing
Wanting knowing to be a Real, solid thing
Fear
Mortal fear
Bewilderment
Constant background anxiety
Hating this body
Not caring for this body
Being burdened by this body
Feeling trapped in a body
Feeling more trapped in a mind
Wanting knowing to resolve everything
Wanting to be saved
Thinking that I probably don’t need to be saved
Thinking or knowing(?) there’s nothing to be saved from
Knowing that I can’t be saved
Feeling open
Feeling vulnerable
Feeling exposed
Feeling bad
Feeling like I'm doing it wrong
Believing it all
Wanting to both believe it and have a choice about when, where, and to what extent I believe it
Not knowing where the edge is until I've fallen off
Feeling violated
Feeling like existence is non-consensual
Somehow trusting all of it, totally, exactly as it is
Watching the panicking
More crying
Being one
Being very very aware
Noticing and letting go of effort in one swift move
Compulsive clenching
Compassion
Dissolving
Disillusion
Dying without the novelty
Being ok vey very briefly and for no apparent reason/because of no reason./?
Wanting distraction
Respecting needing distraction
Getting out of the way of intelligent coping mechanisms
Villifying coping mechanisms
Understanding only in retrospect
Frustration
Compassion, deep, like warm water
Compassion, hard, like being ****** vey very slowly
Torture
Life-giving torture
Never wanting to stop
Marveling
Abundance like grace, like not deserving, like not needing to be deserving, like deserving is perverse language
Tasting everything
Endless kaleidoscopes of being and tasting and knowing
Non visual seeing
Clarity, brightness, nothing is a problem
Being alive
Being sososo tired
Wanting to rest, to die into void and nothing
Wanting to hibernate
Wanting to still
Dying to get off
Begging to get off
Finding the edge more thrilling than the center (because then the center can be anything at all?)
Loving all the previous versions of this being
Needing to hate, loathe, earlier renditions of this being
Hating repulsion
Trusting repulsion
Getting stuck because resisting repulsion
Knowing that there's no way out
Knowing that the way out that I'm seeking isn't a way out
Not wanting to do the work
Dancing around the center, constantly
Feeling dizzy with chaos, with knowledge of power
Feeling comfortable with mediocrity
Hating mediocrity
Waking up with jaw tension from the enormity of my own suppressed power
Telling stories about sensations
Relying on self-bullying methods I know don't work
Perfecting the art of pretending
Perfecting the art of self-deception
Wanting to make the stakes higher
Being overwhelmed by my own storytelling
Not wanting to give stories credibility by dispelling them
Naval gazing
Loving philosophy
Feeling dried up, tired, stagnant, disinterested, not engaged, not here.
Sleepwalking. Sleep writing. Sleep talking. Sleep caring
Not sleeping
Vivid dreaming
High weirdness
Questioning my sanity
Romanticizing insanity
Wanting to blur all boundaries
Wanting to smooth the edges of reality
Questioning reality
Destabilizing reality
Feeling destabilized
Feeling irresponsible
Guilt
Feeling sick and tired
Feeling scared
Feeling hopeless
Wanting to reach out
Feeling like everything is inevitable
Feeling like suffering is inevitable
Recognizing kindness
Discerning well (properly? Clearly? Well.)
Fearful trusting
Thinking too much
Not wanting to love my dad as much as I do.
Chasing the intellectual high
Disappointment
No need for resolution
Feeling caught in existence
Feeling caught up. Like in a potato sack; I can explore the exact measure of my confinement, the sensorial elements, the scratchiness, the filtering light from the outside, the stagnation, the wanting to stretch.
I love this being.
This. It's not a problem.
Confusing familiarity with comfort
Confusing comfort with peace
Reifying confusion, but not really
Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky
Seeing through, like pinholes in a perfectly realistic backdrop
Dispelling everything
Stripping away the Stripping away
Trying to stand still and feel
Wanting to be convinced by rage
Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad
Feeling continuous
Feeling fragmented
Feeling like motion, like flow
Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering
Grasping at impermanence
Resting in the middle
Dancing down the tightrope
Knowing perfect poise, so so brief
Everything is hysterically funny
Hysterically
But also just plain humorous
And absurd
Loving people
Feeling grateful for people
Seeing beauty everywhere
Always coming back
Like an epic
Like a great love story
Like a violin solo in a forbidden song
Like the last wring of that silk dress you're not supposed to squeeze dry
Knowing the inside of my hand
Knowing teenage shame
Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow
hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small, nowhere to go
Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong soft body
Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving
Becoming one single, concentrated point
Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. With my body.
I am not this voice
Or this writer
Or this narrator
Though I am also all that
