Close look into the unmolded being, your true essence to be forged.
Few years ago, I developed this reaction to anything I found displeasing—I would instantly gag, sometimes even to the point of extreme vomiting. Even the most ordinary human acts, like wiping food from lips or sneezing into hands instead of forearms, would trigger it. I had to admit how needless it was, especially in gatherings to tolerate being a wrong reflection of the person, things I interact with. That is not me, I don’t want to have this overly sensitive perceptual faculties. I would also find myself rude, without even being considerate that its a condition.
Journey to Self through the Void.
Having to learn to feel remorse for myself, to be patient as I searched for where it stemmed from—because at my core, I knew this reaction was not me. But then, what is the difference? What is truly “me”? What makes me unique, when I am nothing but a direct product of everything I have been exposed to, everything I have interacted with? Self is fluid, like water, adapting and dissolving into what surrounds with? Or am I dense, like earth, absorbing what comes, but staying intact? I am being shaped—or am I the one shaping? When something collides with you, does it leave a mark, or do you leave a mark on it? I wonder do they seek the experience of me just as much as I want to avoid experiencing them?
Or is there no choice at all? Are all fights inspired by fear? fear of being passively defined, forged out of wrong clay? —by physical interactions, by spiritual ties, by forces pulling at my true essence? Because existence, by its very nature, repels me.
Odam’s Temple.
Maybe that is my true essence, what I say, see, speak, do are truly manifested by force directly outside of me, the definition of me scattered across everything I ever experienced, as I further go through life, continue to carry adobe of definition molded from beautiful yet brutal battle, silent, unknown. Maybe it was never about me, there is no essence, no complexity, the depth of my sense as deep as my head under water. Whatever I decide to perceive experience of myself and surrounding, it is not in dire need to be associated, but simple lived, and transformed through with simple awareness.
Every battle, there is a space where the force of what I am and the force of what is shaping me collide. It is emergence, where two bodies meet, a new form appears—one that belongs to neither, yet holds both. And in that space, a silent negotiation happens. A small part of you will accept, a small part of you will replace. A beautiful, rhythmic battle.
This is the fight on the borderline of self—the edge where you push and pull against existence itself. Where awareness is the only weapon, and transformation is the only victory.
If You Are Ever In Water
I had to develop a way to soften this reaction, to stop letting it define me. My past self needed to be forgiven—for carrying the weight of something that was never truly mine. And in return, past self echoed back the memories of how unnecessary it was to react the way I did. At the same time, sending patience forward to my future self, resilience to fight with all we now know. Suddenly, it made sense. Even if I have been molded by the forces around me, even if my fluid soul is nothing but a collection of direct interactions with a world that is a also molding itself—I am present, choosing. Choosing to be understanding of myself, even if no one else is. The ever-present self remains, whether hidden beneath the voices of the false self, or shining through the reflection of true character. The wall between being—and refusing to be molded into something I never chose. To exist is to negotiate with what seeks to define us—again and again, until we choose what remains.
Gyatt 