In those rare states when I see myself from a distance, I consistently notice that I am rushing.
A pressure is pushing me forward.
Pushing. Forcing. Finish it now. Now this. Quicker. Faster. You're late. Pressure. Quicker. Pushing. Forcing. Stressing. Fighting. Teeth grinding.
Urgent. Urgent. Urgent.
It is not obvious most of the time. But in those special states, I can see that the pressure beneath everything is based on lack.
Never enough time. Never enough of something. Tightened almost to snapping point, but not quite.
Many times I have had the same awareness: the solution to my problem—the big, ultimate solution—is simply to do everything twenty per cent slower.
Or even ten per cent.
To create space. To do things from the spacious place where the energy is not forced, where it is not about achieving or getting. To come back to the place where I feel whole first. To come home first. To become safe first. To feel good first. Then allow actions to fall.
This has been my intention for a long time.
Intentions are one thing. Reality is another.
The trance kicks in. Under. Then behind. Pushing from all sides, like barometric pressure in the sky.