i’m not sure how i’m feeling. i can feel the feeling and i can see what the feeling is connected to- a story, memory, thought, sensation- although the connection is a bit fuzzy. but when i attempt to go a layer deeper, to feel the root of it, the connection blows out.

i guess why would it not?

in the past few weeks when have i been intentionally alone? there may have been moments of alone-presence but have there been hours and days like this? and to be clear it’s not just being alone but being alone with the intention of presence, attunement and love- when have i provided space for this?

i am choosing to be without myself.

sometimes i treat my mind as a factory that produces the commodities of insight. i pressure myself to produce something profound, something valuable and i do so with such urgency that only half truths come out- truths packaged in sensationalism or obscurity. but just like in capitalism, these insights eventually deteriorate when confronted with reality: anything produced in carelessness is bound to unravel.

the beauty of being a part of the oppressed classes is that we not only must face that ruthless system of oppression outside of us but carry it within us. it is this that makes us suffer and it is this that makes us revolutionary. it is through the collision of this fundamental contradiction that consciousness is born, born out of the struggle to stay alive and be free.