Member-only story
The unbearable angels of our nature
The “truth” is beautiful, but also terrible.
There is nowhere to rest in this world.
Even this moment is being violently ripped away from you by time, never to be seen again. At the same time, new moments are born to you in a relentless torrent of blooming glory. To be fully “alive” sometimes feels like trying to drink from a fire hydrant.
It’s a little much.
But it’s there. Boiling away in the background. Only truly known to the insane, children, and possibly the enlightened (although I am suspicious). Is there no hope for the rest of us? What meager portion of truth can we hope to gain access to?
The first time I realized this “floorlessness” of reality, as I named it in my confusion, it became clear to me that there was really nowhere to stand. No true firm ground to rest on.
If you can sense that right now, it might cause you a little anxiety. It does for me.
But don’t worry; there’s an answer.
Basically, flow is the optimal state of being alive. Rest is a false promise of permanence and stability.
Less rest, more flow.
But I’ll save that for the end.
