If you think about it, life is difficult and endlessly complicated.

If you don’t, it’s not.

So what do you do?

Well, that depends on the ideas you have around control and responsibility, and about the personal human power to change things.

In that respect, we’re all different.

And whether that difference makes everything easier or harder, is also completely up for grabs.

In life, we can go anywhere, at least experientially.

We can believe anything.

We can be either lost or found and we can be whatever is imaginable in between.

We can even be ALL of that in a single day.

I think about that stuff.

I’m obsessed with being awake and living a fulfilled and deeply intuitive and curious life, and finding ways or non-ways to make it richer, deeper, and more interesting.

Sometimes that’s very simple, but very often it opens up new, confusing doors to even more confusing mental spaces.

Why don’t I just stick with one viewpoint, one specific way of looking at myself and the world and myself IN the world or myself AS the world?

How come I seem to know the real me (or the ‘I’ you always hear about in spiritual circles) so well, and still search for more?

Well, because it happens the way it happens.

And that might not sound like a solid reason or explanation, but it’s actually the only one that makes sense.

It happens, that’s why it happens.

Let me crank up the weirdness and tell you that I don’t consider myself to be a human being capable of choosing a specific way to look at life.

Those viewpoints have changed SO MANY TIMES, in spite of the comfort and safety some of them brought me, that the idea of claiming control is ridiculous.

There’s nothing to hold on to.

Life is an unfolding, I am the unfolding.

So I never really get it.

And at the same time, there’s a fundamental knowing of being okay, no matter what, like the subtle embrace of eternity.

It’s like exploring a maze while being safely connected to a rope that will always guide you home if you want to.

My intellect doesn’t understand life and it never will, but it also doesn’t stop the attempts to get there anyway.

That’s the obsessive part.

Or part of the obsessive part.

That’s also life, very much so.

And sometimes that’s cute, and sometimes it’s extremely fucking annoying.

Sometimes I am joyfully overwhelmed by the utter directness of whatever is going on (the thing we call life, the whole thing, the complete thing, from floor to ceiling), and sometimes I seem to be lost in a dark corner of the maze.

But I know the rope to home is there, always.

I can be blindsided, but not truly lost.

I can be confused, but not damaged or broken.

And every day my obsession lives alongside me.

Looking for more simplicity.

More ease.

More peace.

And probably even less obsessiveness (yeah, the irony is big and bold and in plain sight).

That’s what life seems to be for me now.

Me, in life.

A magical happening that truly can’t be labeled, but is constantly being mapped out anyway, because the mind is part of the deal and it will fight for relevance.

Maybe one day I’ll just sit under a tree and look at the blue sky.

Maybe the obsession will stop and surrender in a gentle gaze.

Although I guess that spiritually picturesque idea seems better than it really is.

Or not.

Or a bit.

Hahaha.

Oh man.

Like I said:

thinking makes it difficult.

Thank god for the rope.

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(Photo by @robmulally, for Unsplash)