The brilliant Maria Popova once said “Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write.”
I read this and immediately realized her and I must be identically afflicted.
The coolest part of writing all these years is this mounting history of my own unraveling, exploration and ongoing rehabilitation. For the last two decade I can go back to nearly any single day of any single year and observe who I was, how I thought, what was working and what wasn’t. I often smile thinking how my own words may someday my perfect alibi.
The rain is how I feel.
“Come with empty hands, go with empty mind.”
“Shrouded by darkness, would you not seek a light?”
“What you see reflects your thinking”.
“When attachment arises, contemplate impermanence, not self.”
If I had the opportunity to add two more signs they would be:
“No way out but in”.
“Wherever you go, there you are.”
I’ve spent today reviewing my own history.
Regardless of how I so often feel, I can’t find an area of my life that hasn’t gotten better.