Cruel Mornings and Questioning

The morning light peaked through the blinds and summoned eyelids to part open. A tightness took over my chest and I groaned as I looked around the room - dim and cold. For a brief moment all seemed unfamiliar, the space, the bedding, and the air around me.

Do you ever wake up from a dream and wonder if the present moment is one that is really happening?

I have issues with reality.

Sometimes I wake up and my body has decided that the day will be grim and heavy. With no cause for provocation I weep beneath my sheets before the day has even started, overcome by a sense of dread and confusion.

I used to think that consciousness was a curse; long before I really understood it. How cruel of the cosmos to bestow upon us the phenomena of self awareness - so that we may burden ourselves with existential questioning.

I wish sometimes that I could be like the flowers; who grow and die and grow again, beautiful in the simplicity of their cycles.

I used to think that consciousness was to emote; to be riddled with things that are red and green.

Anger,

Jealousy,

Love,

Regret.

I am learning now though; that all these things are parasites, little seeds of energy that plant within our bodies and consume us - tricking us into thinking that we are self aware.

“I am angry, therefore I am awake - I am breathing.”

And this is false.

To be conscious is to recognize the consumption of our thinking as something separate from what we are.

Why do we say I AM? I am angry, I am sad, I am scared.

Anger is a thing that happens to us - I believe - not something that I am. I do not wish to be anger; this ugly warm thing, brooding in my belly. I do not wish to be fear, weak and sticky thing that trickles over my skin.

These feelings; these moments of emotions are things that happen to us. Things that we have taught ourselves to identify with, when in reality the cruel gift of the cosmos that is awareness is really the ability to separate these happenings from being.

The ability to say, “anger is happening to me.”

The ability to remove yourself from your feelings, a distant observer who allows the passing of one's emotions and uses it as a tool for understanding.

I’ve spent years on I AMs and know that I have many more days of weeding out words from my brain before I can really be as beautiful as the flowers, soft and simple in their cycles.

But the day is grim and heavy,

And I am trying.