My mind hiccups thoughts, random narratives laced with a false promise:
Dog doo inconsiderately on the path, car impatiently close, expected assurances not forthcoming, too rainy, too sunny, too too too, stirring commotion rippling my glassy silence, underwear creeping, aching back, hard chair, foggy mind, anxious energy, decaying global environment; if only I were faster, calmer, wiser…
My mind is offering to sell me an air substitute. The mere offer can stimulate doubt that air is available, can stimulate a belief that I need to find a substitute.
These spurious thoughts are sublimely cradled within an implied promise that says: “Fix this condition and you will be closer to contentment, happiness, validity”. The false promise offers me a control addiction. Each success provides a surge of biochemical satisfaction, a heightened desire for another fix. It’s an endless random pursuit, trading fleeting satisfaction for grounding awareness.
If I’m looking for the glasses that I fail to recognize are on my face, are they still lost? The sense of loss is real, and the search will go on.
Each time I gently decline my mind’s offer, I reinforce recognition for an essence, an essence that only I can take away when I fail to recognize its’ presence. And each time I pass by my mind’s specious offer to be “happy if”, the allure is weakened.