Sitting in front of a blank page with a pen in hand is such an exciting and scary experience. I feel like a beggar holding out my begging bowl and waiting for God to start filling it up. It is not disrespectful. I don’t mean this in a way that’s insulting towards me. I just know that I am not. How can I even think of writing something. There’s just a faint feeling I feel within that something needs to be written down. I just allow myself to trust it and not resist it. So I open my book, turn to a new page, open the pen cap and write the date at the top right. That’s it. Then I wait for further instructions.
I don’t know what I’m going to write. I don’t know why I’m writing it. I don’t care anymore. All I know is this feels amazing. I am surprised with what’s flowing out of me. And just experiencing this is the reward. What a blessing this is to be an empty hollow bamboo and allow existence to play its music through me. I cannot even express my gratitude in words. Its just not possible. Things are just happening. I no longer am able to see something as good or bad. I honestly have no idea how to split reality into two.
If something is happening, it is meant to happen. Its that simple. It cannot be simpler than this. Nobody is doing anything. There is no right or wrong, good or bad, beautiful or ugly, positive or negative. Everything just is. If its happening, its happening because existence wants it to happen. Even the so called things that hurt me are meant to show me that my ego still exists. That I’m still holding on to the illusion that I exist. Oh the compassion! Thank you Lord for this unconditional love and compassion. For never giving up on me. For eternally showering your blessings on me.
If I am feeling bad, the problem lies in the way I am looking at things. What’s happening is happening because it’s happening. Its meant to happen. Existence even allows me to fuck up. It loves me so much that it allows me to misinterpret things. But it never leaves me alone as I can see by the way it gives me feedback through my feelings. Oh the love! Oh the compassion! All of this, for me! What have I done to deserve this?