On anxiety

I am scared and anxious. This is not a feeling I am used to. Again, it makes sense that I sit down with this new friend. We stare at each other attentively; something is so familiar about this new arrival. Why could he possibly be here? I know I am experiencing stress, I am fearful of this work I do. It seems to be changing, another transition is afoot and yet this transition occurs in the now. I know this, I experience this, and yet, this new arrival has me baffled. My mind throws up explanations - “oh, you are changing, this work is changing, there is more responsibility and let’s be honest, you don’t do to well with responsibility do you?”

The mind, now in a frenzy, paints ever-detailed paintings sending me into a tailspin of fear and anxiety.

‘Stop, stop, stop,’ I cry. The laboured breathing slows down; the racing mind stills. In that moment, acknowledgement of my new friend occurs. In this acknowledgement, I see that my new friend is not separate from me and I am not separate from him. The idea of two, the subject and the object ceases and a realisation emanates from where I know not. This is not who I am, this is a story I created. A construct I constructed to help me navigate through this illusory existence called life. This isn’t me. Wherever this emanates and returns to is who I am. A simple moment; an immediacy. Just this.

On fear

A thousand emotions light up in me. I have been here before and I am here again. An opportunity exists for real transformation, for real change, and I find myself frozen with fear. Hello my old friend. We are here again. We sit and stare at each other. I offer no judgement or desire to fix this, instead, we simply sit with each other. We sit together for what feels like an eternity. We sit and stare; time passes until even time stops. Suddenly something starts to change, at first a simple and ever so subtle glimmer and then a realisation that I am not separate from this fear. THAT IT IS ME AND I AM IT. That no one witnesses and no one experiences this fear. That, can there even be fear if no one is there to know it or experience it? Instantly, the edifice of the two collapses, it dies, and there is only this. This moment, this instant, this aliveness, this being. This knowing, this birthright, supposedly lost but always here. This shining, resplendent and magnificent moment. This is all there is.

What would you like me to say?

From the silence, words emanate like a wave rising from the ocean and as quickly as they appear, they disappear. Sometimes the words are measured and sometimes frenetic. I have recently been saying that, for someone in silence, much is being said. I ask you, then, the question, “what would you like me to say?”

“What would you like me to say to ease the separation that ‘supposedly’ exists?”

The aching heart; what words can soothe that ache, like a soothing balm? How can I help? Knowing that these words are useless and yet, for the very few, some may prove useful as they move in the direction the words point to and dive deeply into the ocean of recognition. The recognition that in the annihilation of the drop is the life of the ocean. An openness; an aliveness; a resting occurs which informs us that my pain and my story is not real. That I have always rested as the ocean, whether consciously aware of it or not. My words are useless and yet, useful for those who will answer my question of,

“What would you like me to say?”

Kintsugi ~ Imperfectly Perfect.

The broken ones appear here. Labouring under the misapprehension that something is broken; that something is missing. That they are somehow not whole. That the wound needs healing. In Kintsugi, which is the Japanese art of mending broken objects, the Japanese believe by using Gold or Silver as an epoxy, the break is aggrandised. The idea being that something damaged and having history becomes more beautiful.

Similarly, Rumi states, “the wound is where the light enters.” Both viewpoints celebrate our imperfections and our flaws. Both see them as portals to transformation; not something to be hidden or used to limit ourselves, but instead to be celebrated. To celebrate and honour that which we once felt limited us, but when seen, is in fact the catalyst that sets us free. The flaws that caused us to seek, to ponder, to enquire and in seeing that this wound, this break, this reminder caused us to go free. To remember our true nature. To finally rest as we truly are.

Is there an inner or outer state?

Let us, for the sake of this writing, assume that there is. I have said at times that if one looks at their external state, it is a reflection of what is going on internally. Could, then, a shift in our internal state bring about a change in our external state and circumstances? The answer to this is a resounding yes. Taken further, if we were to examine this a little more deeply, we would see that the apparent external and internal states are in fact one and the same. That there is no demarcation line. That in the dream, there appears the idea that our internal state affects our external state and so forth, but it is in fact porous - leading us to ask, ‘where does one start and one end and vice versa?’

In this apparent play, no one state is in ascendency. They rise and fall as needed. Our internal state affects our external environment and our external environment affects our internal state. Each like the wave, rising and falling as is, but upon closer examination, being seen that it is not separate from the whole.

This collapsing of boundaries shows us both are one and the same, simply appearing to be separate and different, but in fact apparent appearances in the one reality.