The Something

There’s a certain something that only you know about life.

And when you embrace this something, you walk differently.

And you breathe, and speak differently.

It isn’t an intellectual knowing.

And it isn’t mojo, either.

It’s deeper.

It is — prior to all that.

You could smudge the something if you’re too focused on understanding, justifying, explaining.

The figuring out is too abstract. It’s busy work.

It’s when you release that intention and simply exist, that you remember the something.

Like a tree. Like a flower.

This is your nature.

It’s effortless.

But you can’t believe it, can you?

It can’t be that easy. It can’t be that simple. There must be steps, surely.

And so you create steps.

Puzzles and problems with what is.

And you pretend you don’t know who you are, because that seems more… appropriate.

And so begins the trying process, of which you eventually grow tired.

But rather than leave the game alone, you seek to solve tiredness.

Rather than stay still and realise you aren’t lost, you run.

This is suffering.

And the truth is, it happens for no reason at all.

That’s the nature of delusion. That’s the whole danger in it.

We treat it as if it’s real.

And we build a life around the impossible self-defeating task of becoming something.

A something that was already there in plain sight.

A something you knew all along.