What if the struggle is real. What if you don’t gaslight yourself out of how you’re actually feeling, what you’re going through. What if it doesn’t matter what everybody thinks, relates or doesn’t relate to your experience. What if it’s all Holy. All yours. All real. All true. All pure.
What if this is the real meaning of longing in a lived sense. Would you not go easy on yourself? Would you still make an enemy of the pain? The pain that can’t be understood. The pain that takes you to your edge. Where you can no longer just put on a brave face. “Presence it”. Whatever that means.
Just be defeated. Be the Holy mess that you are. Let whatever inconsistencies in you be there. You’re not going to line everything up perfectly. When has that ever happened? Except as an absolute lie. A facade of ‘normal’. Which you knew to be a complete fabrication. You always have. Stewing in worry and blinding effort that this fabricated bubble might be popped one day. What stress. What a way to live if you call that living.
Is it unbearable? Agonizing? Too much sometimes?
Does it feel like something’s gone absolutely fucking wrong?
Does it keep coming back and bringing you to your knees?
Is it a complete lie to say that you’re grateful for it, that it’s all for something…. that you’re on your way. That you can ‘handle’ it. Or try to anyway.
Absolutely.
All of the above.