You might’ve noticed I didn’t post this week my normal blah blah—some new poems, a mental health reflection, a recommendation here or NBA note there. I just couldn’t pull myself out of myself, I couldn’t do it. I have been vibrating with this feeling, much like my old depressive days, devoid of motivation, creative energy, or focus. Except this was well-tinged with bliss, itself devoid of the despair or dread of the previous feelings. “How odd,” I thought, and walked slow circles around my house, watching my hand open and close. The shoulds piled up—blogposts, podcast episodes, poems to write, poems to read, my yoga lessons. But then, I thought, “Nah, it’s all an illusion, there is no test, what’s the point?” A brief panic. I googled, “If you become enlightened, do you lose motivation to do everything?” I know I must strike a balance, shouldn’t spend all day staring at the tree outside my bedroom window, asking my dog, “How’d you get in there?” As Ram Dass said, I must remember that I’m a divine being and my social security number. But for now, I’m just happy to be here, hovering through these days, unattached to my to-do list, unattached even to my bliss. Ah so.
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Good reminders, thanks.