Do I suffer attachment to people? Only on occasions; when the fire behind someone’s eyes ignites a flame in psyche that fuels my furnace for days - it’s a beautiful thing though.
More so, the attachment I suffer is to experiences - the marriage between placement and timing. I’ll be there, in the park, when all of a sudden, vivid images of the past arise to haunt me:
“Hey, remember the warming energy of the coffee shop you stumbled upon yesterday?”
Or the more confusing:
“Remember that dream you had when you were in third grade? You know, the one where you showed up to school without a shirt on and your stomach hung over pant belt like a garbage bag full of jello? That one was so funny because you were SOOO self conscious of yourself.”
Hey, thanks conscious, that’s great to remember right now in the middle of yoga.
I will become so utterly consumed in memories that I forget that there are trillions of more experiences artfully being crafted all around me. All I have to do to access them is bounce off the diving board into the ever-flowing spring of possibilities. Instead, however, I am paused in the middle of my triangle pose, pondering how many vegan food trucks there are in Austin, Texas.
Through my drilled-in desire to label and subjugate experiences like Yelp reviews, I place chain linked fences all around me, barricading myself from the now - the continuous flow of life.
I remain looking out into the divine Earth, fingers interlaced with chain links, glancing out like a house dog looking out of the windows of his owner’s suburban home. And while the grass may not be greener on the other side of the fence, it’s damn worth rolling around in and receiving stains on my shirt like stamps from mother nature.
Once I let go of my urge to subjugate, judge and REMEMBER, I become the sum of my past, present, and future. All. At. Once.
Essentially, I become a superhuman, capable of extending my reach to any and every facet of the universe. Because I don’t reach this state often, I heal - healing whatever surfaces - usually the past. For when I go back and trim the overgrown weeds of my past, I allow space to be more present in the future.
Now, when I start to entangle my brain in weeds of thought, I allow them to flow from ear to ear like temporary gusts flowing under a bridge. Instead of eliminating the thoughts, I acknowledge their existence and kindly let them know that this space is vacant for only the most endearing house guests.