Photograph courtesy: Eric Prouzet at unsplash.com/@eprouzet
All these boxes in the head. Boxes within boxes. Will I deal with them ? Is this what life is ? We leave some boxes behind. Some leave a lot. Some leave some. Some leave a lot of boxes in boxes in boxes. Deep rooted boxes. Undealt with. Stinking. Sometimes, beautiful. Rich. Aromatic. Preserved.
As I start to take out deep, sunken sensations within me, I traverse layers of emotions. There are the never ending anxieties of to-do lists, of petty guilts of missed hellos or embarrassing secrets recently revealed. Meditation does make it easier to knot these up in a piece of cloth and push it aside, back, that I’m the boss here. The one with power. Not you, you inanimate, powerless list and anxiousness. Slowly, I start to get to the surface ripples of a form of melancholy. Just touch it. I reach the levels of knowledge that it’s undeniably there. Why, since when, for what, those levels are deeper. Maybe left for future transcending. For this level, I can deal with having the ripples be acknowledged. Touched. Felt. Weave my fingers through them. Dip and come out. Accept them. Not try to smooth them out. I’ve to dive deeper tomorrow. I cannot pat them solid, close the folds, my gateways. This time it’s best to hug the melancholy. Let it try to dissolve. Get the surface thinner, sparser. Willing. To let me in. I splash my feet in it with promises to dive soon. Check out the deposits underwater. Maybe I’ll discover some corals. Beautiful realizations by cleaning of unwanted debris. Can’t wait.