I’m outside in a different spot, and it’s so much quieter.
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It’s funny how sometimes I don’t notice noise until it’s gone. The thing that was always there is missing. I got so used to it.
And yet as I sit here listening, there are still so many sounds.
This morning I had some really ugly thoughts and they felt ugly. They were ugly thoughts about me.
Lately, I’ve noticed that anytime I’m talking about myself, 99% of what I’m saying is bullshit. Now that’s not because I’m a big fat liar. It’s because anytime that I’m talking about me, I’m talking about something that’s completely made up.
I’m talking about my judgments of me, whether positive or negative. I’m talking about my identity, who I think I am, and all of that stuff is made up. It’s not bad, and it’s not wrong, but it almost assuredly is not me.
And anytime that I find myself thinking about me, it doesn’t always feel ugly, but it feels contracted. It feels grasping.
It feels like my separate self, and takes me away from the direction I’d rather be going. The direction of home. The space within.
As I was struggling with these ugly thoughts this morning, I realized that. I saw that the moment I stop thinking ugly thoughts about me, or any thoughts about me – even the ones I try to replace the ugly thoughts with – I feel so much better right away. With no thoughts of me, there’s just this.
In this space, there is no me and it’s all me. In this space, there is peace and quiet.
In this space lives the beauty of all that is. It’s what I’ve been looking for, and it’s right here.
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