Body Image, character study, depression, Dharma, eccentric, Existentialism, Expansion, Fear, Health Issues, Laramie, Mental Health, Mindfulness, privilage, Self Growth, Self Love, Self Reflection, Universiality, Wyoming

divine, godlike, a star

Week three of my new job. Stage one of my career. Claiming no hierarchy but finding myself quantifying the rest of my life in a sensible sequential order. It helps me to feel secure—to fix a few pieces into slots and maintain the illusion of control until I am absolutely sure I can let go. Knowing in my heart that I could let go right now, let go of fear and of the round pieces that I must find circles to fit. The circles are already here. Everything and nothing fits all at the same time. The ordered part of myself, the ego craving order is loving the routine. Not quite where I was in the regiment of grade school still compensating for something I need, something I miss. It wasn’t too be found in graduate school. Not to be found in a new career. The non-ordered passionate part of myself knowing that its hidden under layers of illusion that preserve my illusion that I have any sense of control in my own life. After more circles and mirrors of self-reflection I have come to understand that I replaced one addiction with another through exercise. Booze for body exercise. Done with both. Finally the pressure surrounding my heart is gone padded now with all the softness that faded away with exercise and has gently returned—tides of my own body composition. Feeling nervous without exercise and now nervous that I will be able to train as I did before. I write down numbers like a fired and frantic accountant trying to figure out how long it might be until I can pay others back, until I’m evened out but I think that life is just one long big game of catch up and I might as well take pleasure in where I might take my next step and whether I might skip to my next destination. Same numbers of my weight as it goes up and down and really these numbers are benign. This is the shell. Nothing comes with me, not the softness of my belly or heart, not the life insurance plan I bought because I jumped at the opportunity to put a price on piece of mind. And I come back to writing and I know the silent thud of despair like gauze on my eyes is so that suffering will inform every decision and I become that much closer to what I am and what I always have been—divine, godlike, a star.

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