It's All Echoes
Feeling into the experience.
There is nothing new to say.
Every thought that ambles through my mind has been conjured before, sometimes recently, sometimes many lifetimes ago. The thought may be new to my personal experience, but even my experience has, in almost all ways, been done before. Probably a lot.
The collective conscious, and the collective unconscious, informs every little thing we do, each thought that comes and goes, what we believe, and how we present ourselves in this present moment.
It’s all been done before, and we are all a reflection of that phenomenal tapestry of life. Good and bad, forever and ever, over and over in each timeline.
What’s individual, unique, and maybe most important, about how we reflect this expanse of already-is-ness back to the world is the way we feel about it.
Feelings are the crayons we wield in a world with far too many black and white lines lately. We can imbue the narrative of our same-as-it-ever-was life with whatever zesty shade suits our mood. The trip to the grocery store that feels tedious and repetitive? Throw on your sparkliest shirt or some dangerously red lipstick and smile confidently at every face you meet. The deli will feel more exciting, and the produce department may shine brighter. Make the boring spicy, feel into the thrill of being alive in a time where tropical fruits nestle an arm’s length from corn grown around the corner, just down the aisle from imported cheeses. Thank all the gods for fun cheeses.
My point is rambling, but follow with me for a minute, and try to live a little more… lifted.
Not long ago, after I temporarily lost my sense of taste in the pandemic, I chose to relish the flavor of every food I ate. This definitely led to some intentional removal of some regular foods (sorry bacon) and reaching for more interesting flavors when I cooked. I started feeling into food. Since then, I swear there is a part of my scalp near my neck that tingles when I eat something particularly delicious. My feelings and senses have trained some happy chemicals to happen when I’m eating. So it’s not just a chore to choose and make foods, it’s a joy.
I’m working on applying this same feeling application to just about everything that’s routine or monotonous or repetitive in life— find the joyful feeling, or make it a joyful thing, and color it with feelings of fulfillment. Make it fun.
Laundry days got the detergent that smells like heaven— seriously, I have three different ones in rotation depending on how I feel. Because it’s cheaper than therapy! And my closet got organized because I realized that looking at order is nicer to my brain than madness. I’m not saying any of it is fun in a way that would make it worth social media, but it does make a difference. Tiny, feeling-ful differences.
Listen, I know there’s some stuff that just sucks— see “current political climate” or “cost of living”, but if you’re facing some stuff that seems dull or tedious, try to feel into it, see how you can make it more joyful for you, because you’ve only got this one (precious) life, even if this experience of life is just a call-back of the thing you did yesterday, or your ancestors did many lifetimes ago. Make it yours, with feeling.
Let me know what you’re doing lately to uplift your day-in and day-out life in the comments, and thank you so much for spending these little moments here. I love you!
I get what you mean. What sustains me is simple, yet irreducible: the act of being here, awake to the world in all its quiet offerings. I take stock of what pleases me, granting myself the luxury of overlooking what does not. These moments belong to me. A cup of tea, the weight of my dog’s warm body resting beside me, the satisfying crispness of toast—the small, familiar comforts that ground me. The subtle shifts in daylight as the afternoon deepens into dusk, the quiet thrill of noticing something beautiful that might have otherwise gone unseen—these are not distractions, but the very fabric of presence.
I think about the shape of a flower, the arc of a bird’s wing, and the slow forces of evolution that shaped them. The precision of it astounds me. I wonder about the patterns written into existence—DNA, inheritance, the echoes of life before me—and yet, I no longer feel compelled to question what I love. Wonder, unburdened by the need for answers, is its own quiet satisfaction.
Pain, loss, and the shadow of mortality have passed through me in many forms. They are neither strangers nor unwelcome teachers. But I have no time to spare on unnecessary suffering. Whatever remains of my life is mine to shape. I claim what freedom I can within the limits of my body and circumstances, choosing discernment over distraction. I accept what I must and try to change what I can. I know that none of my thinking is new, but it is mine, the product of my own reflections and the conclusions I have reached.
I have no need for gods or myths, no use for borrowed beliefs. The only truth I recognize is the one I live—the interplay between my mind, my body, and the existence I inhabit. I set my own parameters. I occupy my body fully, meeting each moment with as much grace as I can muster. I do not waste my time in abstractions that hold no meaning for me. Instead, I engage with what is tangible—what I can see, hear, touch, taste, and marvel at. A well-turned sentence. A fleeting sky. The breath of air that carries the scent of damp earth after rain. The absurdity of life, which I welcome with laughter. I cherish the ridiculous, the unexpected, the moments when humor disrupts solemnity and reminds me not to take anything—least of all myself—too seriously.
I am fully aware that everything I write here is entirely subjective, a reality constructed within the bounds of my own mind. Perhaps none of it exists beyond the bubble I create, and I make peace with that. But if reality is a construct, then so is the meaning we assign to it, and I choose to treasure mine as I see it.
I know I am fortunate in that I can make choices that allow me to be here, truly here. And so I am grateful. Above all, I do not wish to add to the unease already at play in the world. Whatever I am doing—reading, seeing, writing, thinking, laughing—at any given moment, that is my reason for living. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Since you brought up senses and aromas/flavors - some of my faves have been sandalwood, vanilla bean, fresh cut limes, cilantro and gardenia. Honorable mention to dark roast ground coffee, in the jar, before brewing.