I don’t know.

I don’t know why I’m even trying to document the changes I’ve been going through.

It’s all inner knowing.

A sense of.

The beauty of being lost in meaning and purpose and goals and anxiety, while we’re gently held by life, smiling at us, cheering us.

What are we doing?

What are we looking for, when we’re right in the fucking MIDDLE of it!

Life will never be more than this, because this is already everything.

And what about the search, the suffering, the spiritual traditions, the trauma healing, the rituals?

All part of the aliveness.

No intrinsic meaning, not going anywhere.

Just colorful, beautiful, compelling storylines, delicious abstractions that come to life within us.

We are all over the place.

As life.

Living the world.

Living the people in that world.

Feeling like tiny vulnerable creatures ready to be crushed.

This gorgeous, rich buffet of human experiences.

Subtle, overwhelming.

Relief.

Depression.

I can’t describe what I see, but I know that I’m being lived.

It takes away every bit of meaning and importance, gently offering it back at the same time.

Safe beyond the intellect.

The evening sun on a roof.

Two men laughing in the street.

A dog.

And a radio station oozing from a car.

It’s all there, it’s already there.

SO important and big.

SO ridiculously beautiful and normal.

More looking, more searching, more trying.

And no more trying.

It’s all there.

All is there.

—

(Photo by @olesia_bahrii, for Unsplash)