the finite self is a lie and I’m yawning

Day 41 of this “yoga challenge.

Have I lost weight? I don’t know, I don’t ever weigh myself.

I rely on how far down I can bend, or how good my clothes fit.

I feel good, with pangs of strangenesses pummeling my body.

A migraine, a sharp pain in my gut, a broken finger, a sore shoulder.

Life is hard.

We are all dying, regardless of how much we try to convince ourselves by plugging into our strange cell phone worlds that we are not. 

I feel it every day.

I am kinda always turned on by existential bullshit.

I cry and get aroused at the thought of ceasing to exist.

I look at my husband and wonder how I got to be in this reality with him, and I cry at how delicately he says my name, and then as if time was lost, we are making love and then, I am asleep fighting nightmares from my teeth. 

It’s all simple really.

But we like making it difficult.

I think once we realize that the key to happiness is accepting how unhappy we can be whilst understanding that that too will fade and that life is just a series of patterns, like seasons, we expand and grow and wilt and die and that we are not special, but the plants certainly are, then we’ll be—ok.

One thought on “the finite self is a lie and I’m yawning

  1. life is just a series of patterns, like seasons, we expand and grow and wilt and die.

    I really loved reading this and agree with practically everything you’ve stated. Great week ahead. 🤗

    Like

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