You are not your thoughts, and yet–
Your thoughts create your reality.
How could this be? (A paradox.)
I will clue you in.
That tricky moment, that really sticky moment, is the moment where you first buy into what your thoughts are telling you.
You’ve forgotten what it felt like before you were trapped, before the walls snapped up, but I can tell you–
It was ordinary, and spacious and un-self-conscious.
In a word, it was free.
Not exuberant, bouncing off the walls, soaring over high buildings free, just simple:
Like that first spring day, where you really felt the wind, and sun, and saw the colors of trees popping.
Like that time where it was quiet (no demands), and you were communing with your cats, and a good book, and you felt this sudden rush of deep gratitude.
Like the first time you visited Colorado and you sensed the space inside and between those glorious mountains.
Funny how you chose to trap yourself away, again–but then again, we all do.
Comforted by the prison of our thoughts, afraid of breaking our ingrained habits, we really don’t want to take a risk–
The risk of taking full responsibility,
The risk of dropping everything we know.
Anything could happen then! (How terrifying!) People might really see us!
And so, we recreate the same stories, again and again,
We repaint the same gray, concrete walls,
And we complain about the way in which we are imprisoned.
Never knowing that that prison is our mind,
Always forgetting that we have the key.
Always terrified of using it.
It’s okay. I won’t make you. (That’s not the way it works.) And I won’t judge.
I will visit you, in your prison, whenever you declare that hours are open.
I will peer through the bars, and I will see your perfection, and I will send love.
For some days, I am trapped too,
and those days, I can’t see you,
(I think you don’t care)
and maybe you are waiting for me,
for my freedom, or just my visit.
And so, I will key in now,
to my body, to my fear, to my breath.
I will hum the universal sound,
deep within my bones,
and I will remember that that is me
(Not those bars, and not those nasty thoughts.)
I will remember that I am only ever imprisoned by choice, by will,
and I can leave when I get tired,
or when I wish to find you again.
Will you look for me, too?
Beyond your bars?
Inside and beneath your pain?
Let me know if you find me there, and I will stay, until it is time for us both to go.