What’s real?

With security comes the certainty of guarantee a foundation upon which trust is built this bedrock of safety serves as fertile soil where the future can grow and the seeds of hope here sowed will know the faith that feeds loves lens; an imagination that sparks curiosity, seeking for the opportunity to share with utmost generosity novel discoveries that are a most natural product of human ingenuity.

We as a people need to return to our roots.

A home in which we can settle.

A career that inspires creativity, offers ample room for mastery through the freedom of self expression and the opportunity to produce a meaningful contribution to social conversation.

It is not only essential that we have these basic necessities in the form of stability but likewise the consistency of a collective narrative that shares a common story of social continuity.

We must feel that we are regularly engaging in the purposeful intentions of common economic conventions; without these the soul will wither and die.

In an age of automation where acts of artful creation and culturization are cultivated in the silicon soil of the ethereal plane we must learn to maintain a use for our brain.

A mind that will grow blind over time if not fed the diet of nutritious supplements meant to nurture a healthy head.

With phones beside our bed and knowledge of global dread fed to us day after day we must find a new way to see reality, one that restores the natural gravity of simply being by engaging in the traditional ceremony of grounding roots that firmly plant our feet and our vision on a shared mission.

Our intentions must be catalyzed to pursue a common goal held within the soul undistracted by some intangible prize devised to make us despise our present position in abundant provision absent the need of a frantic decision.

We must realize the mission of self cultivation and return to the land.

To plan as one does row after row in self dug furrows, the process of provisioning, plotting and allotting time for ample room to grow laterally with upward mobility no longer a sole goal of investing efforts towards creating.

The cultivation of our soul requires very basic interests; the investment of intrigue into a thing we understand sufficiently enough to afford us the freedom of mastery that will meaningfully contribute to culture as a whole. 

In the noise of immediacy it can be paralyzing to seek such a thing with 10,000 hours of excellence being shown in 10 second clips.

Such examples can demoralize as easily as they can realize the desire hidden in our eyes to master a skill that is wise and pursue our own profession at will.

The role of our generation is most certainly one of exploration, but at what cost have we trapped ourselves in the paradox of possibility without room for me.

I am the part you of everyone that wants to truly discover the fullness of my potential and as I make efforts to plant my roots in the good soil of meaningful toil that grounds me in the profound impact of such an act I fear failure, I doubt myself and despair when I see myself through the lens of others expectations.

The death of my desire comes at the point of comparison, it is this competition with others contributions that kills my attention, betrays my efforts towards completion and neglects to reward my labors with words of affirmation.

Show me the process.

Show it to me slowly.

Grow me in the gravity of accessible strategy.

Habituate me in an ecosystem of recognizable humanity with whom I can relate lest I equate myself to the generational giants living off the laurels of their genes.

My family may not be carrying the long legacy of tradition that gives me permission to pursue my passion out the gate.

I may need to find the freedom to navigate in terms which I can relate before I even imagine myself mastering a meaningful contribution to the conversation to which I feel I arrived late. 

Invite me to see my inheritance in its infancy and tend not to think of myself as becoming overnight but along a long trail, a lengthy story, a winding journey. 

I may not be stepping into the dynasty of my dreams in fact I may actually be entering into the provision of pioneering self awareness and the opportunity to exist as the arbiter of my own self agency.

Reward me for spiritual, generational and even ancestral ceremony as yet absent the proof of evidence that would convince you of my worth.

I am deserving of this story, I am worthy.

Where is there a space for me to see people like me who are just starting out, who are only just now learning how to be?

Who is like me?

Who can I see as peers of commonality that cheer me on?

Where is their a medium for discussion about the bravery of slowly shedding disassociation and returning to the land of integration so as to mend the fabric of family back into chords of harmony that were meant to carry me along the path of my fateful destiny?

Who is still healing?

Who needs a helping hand?

Who hasn’t found their calling?

Who is still longing for a filament of fulfillment that will illuminate the great landscape of life and reveal the topography of memories that remind me why its worth existing? Worth living, worth moving from surviving to thriving.

I am still surfing the waves of inevitability despite my belief that they are illusory.

I am still coursing down the lanes of causality even through I know they are mere fantasy.

I am still concerned with the lasting effects of consequence despite the fact that they are an artifact of a forgotten dreams that no longer fit in my story.

When will it end?

The fear of settling.

The victim mentality.

The scarcity mentality.

The imposter syndrome.

The petty pride and pity.

The concern with comprise.

The asking “when will life start beginning.”

The hubris arrogance of vanity that hides from insecurity.

The paralysis of presence when commitment to the future is mentioned.

The sense of being trapped in an inescapable nightmare of doubt and despair. 

The matchstick mentality of disassociating when memories of intensity begin forming around emotional feelings that speak to the depth of devotion I’m capable of experiencing.

When will it end, when will I begin, when will I stop screening calls that offend, calls to open up to take a risk to commit myself to feel, to heal, to be raw and real, to return to my own innocence even though it feels like failure and weakness, to expose myself to the vulnerability of intimate transparency. 

When will I really do what I want and want what I do, to simply be me and accept that I’m actually really happy already and that’s scary because nothing is ever more vulnerable then a blissful soul at the point of ecstasy.

So I seek sublime moments caught in time.

I remind myself that everything is fine.

I want to be kind.

To let my heart soul and mind unwind.

And I find that it takes time.

To heal.

To learn how to reveal what’s long been concealed.

To feel.

To be real.

To act no more and know even less.

To unlearn.

To relearn.

To revisit and remind the mind time after fucking time that everything’s fine, “this is progress this is growth, healing is a spiral even that fact is viral, so why are you freaking out and returning to doubt, don’t be afraid of the darkness don’t hide from your shadow just open up and let it go, take it easy and take it slow, don’t be so hard on yourself, this is going to work, it’s working already, look at how far you have come, this chapter is almost done, just one more memory, one more pathology and you’ll feel even more free, trust me, I am here with thee, this hurts but we’re healing and learning to trust those who are willing to hear our story with compassionate understanding, there is no hurry, the gray is kind of blurry, don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry.”