Certainty is an Illusion

Certainty holds me down more than anything. As soon as I’m certain of something, it becomes fixed and rigid, which is the opposite of the true flexible and ever-changing nature of things. Impermanence is the only reality.

As soon as I’m convinced that my perspective is forever, it does become forever to me. My certainty is a prison that I build for myself. With a door and a lock and key that I have shackled to myself to, that I wouldn’t dare use, feeling safe here in my cell. 

When life swoops in like a gust of wind, I hold onto the bars of my home for dear life, afraid of being swept away by something new. Perhaps even the whole cell gets transported from a prison to a new location. A grassy field, a busy city, a deserted island. I might wake up one day to find that the walls I’ve built have been demolished. I can choose to sit where I am or look around and realize I’ve been imagining the prison this whole time. What happens when I imagine something else? A jungle, an ocean, an angel dancing? 

I can choose to live in a prison or a portal. A cell or a cloud. In lockdown or in freedom. The nature of reality exists in my imagination, what I choose to believe is true. What feels scary to believe? What feels fun? Do I want to feel small or big? Do I want to feel expansive or contracted? Do I want to feel intimidated by this power or inspired by it?