This is mostly a letter to myself, a reflection I scribbled down: it is now yours.
Saturday, I attended a rugby tournament— a dear friend of mine plays on a local team, and I love cheering them on with her girlfriend.
But a quiet moment revealed itself to me as I looked into the sun and spread my arms. This was the first time I had spent a long time outside since the winter released its grasp on us.
I lay down in the grass, peering deeply into the blue sky, scattered with wispy, high-level clouds— it came to me our size in the scheme of the universe. I imagined for a moment that gravity wasn’t keeping me down to earth, but preventing me from falling into the color changing abyss.
We fabricate every instance of our lives. Our perceptions are our realities; our realities are our truths. Whatever we choose to be our truths through experience become our present moment. In simplistic terms, then, it would seem that destiny could be guided by our thought.
And if that were the case, we’d all have smiles and fancy cars. The only hurdle is our ego, which is massive blob of insecurities under the guise of confidence. We think of ourselves as big creatures, but the irony is that any number of things could smite us. Rather than futilely preparing for the unknown, recycle that wasted energy!
When you free yourself of this vanity, which you have built up on your own and with the help of others, you can laugh and look your ego in the eyes. Hold his hand, smile at him, and fall away from the earth.