Vachon Imagined

Being with discomfort is difficult when we do not love and are committed to staying busy.

This busyness presents itself everywhere.

We could be doing something, and our body is doing it, but our mind is separated from it.

This separation creates distance between ourselves and mind.

We are off thinking about something else as we move throughout our day, and suddenly we don’t know how to move without thinking.

We think.

And overthink.

And we are no longer living.

Instead, we are creating confusion and chaos in our minds, and the body is going through it too.

Now a life or spirit of something we call confusion is born.

And because the spirit of God is so delicately prepared to give us our desires, it continues to place us in those environments until we stop running from ourselves.

Until we stop resisting what is here.

We begin allowing instead.

Allowing confusion.

And surrendering.

Allowing whatever form life takes.

And surrendering.

Not because we have finally figured life out, but because we have stopped requiring it to be something other than what it is.

Suddenly, you are no longer just doing the dishes.

You are participating.

You are there.

Your hands are there.

Your mind is there.

Your life is there.

And that is the arrival.

That is the destination you left.

And the destination you are returning to,

every day,

and in every way.

The moment we begin saying, I am angry, and then look for something or someone to soothe us, we have already abandoned ourselves.

And therefore, we have abandoned God.

The two work as one thing.

There is no separation between knowing yourself and knowing God.

There is no place where one ends and the other begins.

Nothing and no one exists outside of it.

We spend so much of our lives trying to escape discomfort that we don’t realize discomfort may be the very place where we meet ourselves again.

We call it pain.

We call it confusion.

We call it anger.

We call it loneliness.

And then we run.

But healing asks something different.

Healing asks us to remain.

To be pain.

Not to worship it.

Not to become it.

But to stop abandoning ourselves when it arrives.

To allow what is here to be here without immediately reaching for something outside ourselves to make it disappear.

And in that allowing,

something changes.

The mind stops running.

The body stops following the mind into places it does not need to go.

The separation begins to dissolve.

And suddenly you are not trying to become healed.

You are participating in your own life.

You have returned.

And that is what healing has always been:

not becoming someone new,

but finally becoming willing to be here.