*

I can’t stop chewing on the bone of the world.

*

I am too old to feel this unsettled.






Groundlessness, Pema Chodron calls it. You think you have a life, it’s illusory.

It’s ill, and it’s for losers.

*

The things I believe are solid are not so. These things are external and internal and there is really no difference between the two. Everywhere I look I am imprisoned by my habitual way of thinking, feeling, and reacting, yet I am also completely unmoored, unable to find anywhere solid to rest. Unable to escape my mind, unable to be at peace in the world as it is. Seeking to avoid all the things I fear. Unwilling to abandon the damaging patterns I erected to bolster my ego, to keep myself safe from the dangerous world and the people in it.

Bone sick of my self-created prison, terrified to leave it, I gnaw and pace and rattle the bars of the cage, bars that seem solid enough, but if I’d just drop them they’d fall to the ground in a heap.

*

Still, I persist in it.

*

Ah, me.

*

Namaste.

***

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