Key Time
Doubtress
March 3rd, 2017

So I have known for quite some time now that You have always wanted me to live for
me. I, however, have been refusing and choosing instead to live in vain. Less so these
days, I hope, but even still. The only difference now is I realize being selfish is not the
same as being self-full.

A month or so ago, I started practicing being enough for myself by disassociating
“iconic” imagery fabricated by my idolatrous Ego from my self-image. And in so doing,
I allowed breath to reach parts of myself that were hiding from the oxygen of reality.
The more I drew breath, the more I let go of childish things that were once of great
importance to me like fame & money. Once I was enough, almost instantaneously, I
would start seeing doors & windows open wide through which I could gently purpose
my care towards those I loved without troubling them for change. I also found myself
engaging in things, being active, in no short definition of ambitiousness.

Being self-full (or selful?) is a word I’m creating to mean “being enough for oneself” in
playful contrast to the word ‘Selfish’ as well as to its meaning. I want to highlight –
rather I don’t want to lose – the employment of the self in both the act of being selfish
and self-fullness. Selfless, although in my current usage is somewhat synonymous with
being enough for oneself (enough to be there for others), something deep down in me
suspects otherwise. In that selflessness is a higher form of self-fullness. I am not
certain if a self-full person can be there for others when feeling incomplete and in want
(&, ironically, self-centered) whereas I do not doubt a selfless person can
despite being
self-centered and being in want of things that internally may supersede the needs of
others.

This is important to note (for my-self) because, ideally, I think You prefer me to be
more selfless than self-full I think. It is my hope that if I continue being enough for me,
perhaps I’ll get to never needing to do so to be there for others. Which brings me to
why I’m calling on You now.

I’m more than satisfied by how much I can access my contentment through focus &
practice. (Thank You for that and clearly, I hope to put that in equivalent act of
gratitude without allowing the impossibility of matching Your blessing to deter me while
simultaneously remembering to not plead otherwise if You found my thanks unworthy
{which I have no doubt they are} for I have yet to break into my heart.)  

When Gandhi sagely said in approximate words to “Be the change you wish to see in the
world”, I think I am now interpreting that to mean “Be the example you wish others
lived by”. Up until a few days ago, being self-full only consisted of realizing the
universal fact that we are all enough the way we are; as it is in Your Eyes so it is in
Truth. Functional that may be, it does not particularly seek to innovate the self in ways
being an example to your self does. Where one’s actions automatically projects one’s
awareness towards refinement essentially allowing the self to
be-cause. When Self-Full
restores, Be-causing improves the self; tandem work required.

What I’m having trouble with is accessing the example that be-causes me. Somewhere,
it sits and notates what I’m doing and is actively hiding from me, like a game of hide ‘n
seek only it never wants me to find it and I never could (or will, I suppose). Perhaps for
my own good but too early to tell. When I do elicit it (somehow) – or when it is invoked
at its own accord - and I actively be-cause, or self-cause as it were, what appears to
fuel me is not so much the thought of my ideal self-example or its image but rather my
knowledge of it that I hold in faith. It yields to my belief more than to my dire attempt at
understanding or manipulating it. The (very) few times my self-cause empowered me, I
have never accessed it directly. It always ran in the background like the subconscious
and as soon as I became attentive, it disappeared.

And this is the crux of the matter. I’m trying to do everything that I can to create the
conditions to self-cause consistently but every step I take is a step in the wrong
direction. Because I’m trying to hold on to something whose entire philosophy (that it
wants to teach me at least and that I need to get through my thick skull desperately so it
seems) is to let… go.

Alright, I’ll let go. But how do I let go without
letting myself go?

An old-blues song, perhaps Ma’Rainey’s or Bessie Smith’s I’m not sure, has a refrain I
am often reminded of that goes something like “Be easy baby… be easy”. Finding the
name of that song and who wrote or sang it is as irrelevant as my criminal attempt at
being easy. Putting aside the fact that my pet name around the house is 'Baby', when I
heard the song, I got it. I knew exactly what it was saying. To me. Or at least I felt a
deeper meaning echo in the chambers of my being beyond the immediate lyrical context.
But for the life of me, no matter what I do, I cannot get easy. I’m trying to be easy. I’m
trying. And that’s the issue, I know that’s the issue, that I’m trying. But I can’t stop. I
mean even when I stop trying, I’m doing it hard as improbable as that sounds.
There’s
[just] no easy way out
is how another oldie would put it.

So, what am I left with? Headaches. Perhaps they are migraines. I have never fully
experienced migraines and I hope I never will but I’m starting to feel traffic of nerves in
mild bumper-to-bumper tension behind my forehead, perhaps between my temples of
self-government. Occasionally, I’d feel other kinds of inter-cranium activity as well but
if they were even in the least bit serious, it may already be too late. The not funny thing
is when I take a few seconds to relax, to breathe, somehow it’s no longer rush hour in
my head and I can freely think ahead.

I need to empty my mind.

I want to empty my mind constantly so I can instinctively be in a state of relaxation. I
hope You will aide me, as You infinitely are, have, always will, in mastering this
effortlessness.

Before I go, eternally or otherwise, I want You to know that I have given some thought
to breaking in my heart. I want to allow it to grow. To ache for the pain of others. I’m
working on in it in my own incompetent way so forgive me for being late and indulging
my incessant need to reinvent the wheel at every turn just so my insignificant movement
in this life feels validated.

Just so I feel a little author
ish of some design in my life, no matter how illusory; perhaps
maybe not so, ultimately, but a permissible taste of some version of it at least? No?
Forgive me for even asking. Force of habit I guess, if You allow me an excuse.

Fully embodying the role I have been assigned by You gets harder the more easier it
becomes. Easier because Your way is more grounded, more natural and full of life.
Harder because it keeps illuminating, further & further, just how much inferior my role
– the role I seek for myself – is. This would have been alright if my unlawful
comparison did not impregnate me with un-birthable shame for having even considered
to out-author You.

The license I keep applying for, intentionally or not, potentially seeks to compromise
Yours. I want to publish
my Book of Life – self-publish as it were– but I cannot do so
without having to forfeit The Book (You have given me).

If there was even a tear of a chance for dawn of reconciliation to be uncovered between
Your Book & mine equi-literally illiterate own, only You can morn it to Life.
Copyright