we are what becomes..

 

interbeing.

I keep falling in love with this word, this notion, deeply diving into it, till I become it.

is there a separate self that exists outside of what becomes? could we even force ourselves into life without being what we are forcing? 

I feel at times that I forget this. sometimes I go back home lost for what to do the next day, forcing ideas in my head to make them happen. I don’t notice that each time I go with force and fear, I become them myself.

I notice the rigid pain in my gut, a recurring pain enclosed in a thick shell of impermeability. a swollen vessel hardened with rust. I, too, have become it, somehow. I’ve ignored it for too long until it has metastasised to a pain my body cannot bear without suffering. 

you’re so afraid, sometimes.

you’re afraid of failing. you’re afraid you’re not giving it your all. you’re afraid of all the expectations you have for yourself— the ever-fluid creativity, the poetry at your fingertips that you’ve somehow lost and all the lose threads of dreams you’re not sure how to connect at will.

my heart reminds me of the need to stay still in the isness of each moment, for it is what we become. we become the moment we live, and if it not lived fully and mindfully, if it is lived with separateness, we become the fragments of our shattered view.

and I feel the pain in my gut for not digesting my moments till they can be let go of. there’s so much I swallow in shame and in weakness. my armour is not one I hold in display. I keep it within, and it keeps hardening every bit of me..

these few weeks have been rough, for sure. I’m not sure how to navigate my unease towards some situations which have occurred. I’m a little afraid of what might happen next and whether love is still there.. I keep chasing the love within me in endless ways just to know it’s right there.

one of my greatest fears now is perhaps the perpetual wonder— is my life too scarred to receive grace, once again?