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You think the soul is a ladder? A climb toward golden light? That’s just the ego’s hunger for height. The soul is a stone in the river, rolling downstream, getting polished by the grit. It doesn’t want to be saved. It wants to be used. It wants to scrape its knees on the pavement of existence, to feel the cold rain of a Tuesday, to lose the keys, to miss the train. You are a spiral, a snake swallowing its own tail, choking on the past, digesting the future. You are not walking a straight line looking for the exit. The journey isn't going anywhere. You are the room, breathing. You are the lungs. You are the air. You are the silence between the breaths. |
FOR THE ONE WHO FEELS IT
The ego builds ladders; the soul rolls in the mud. A provocative deconstruction of linear progress, revealing that you are not a traveller passing through life, but the room itself — the lungs, the air, and the silence between the breaths.
You are already where you need to be.
