A perfect little hut in the Peruvian Amazon. My jungle tis of thee.
There’s a strange, primal buzzing in the air today – energies from a darker zone have permeated my living space. The sounds in my ears are dramatically weaker than my second night of Ayahuasca, when I allowed myself to shoulder the pain of the world and heard the most ghastly, incessant noises all night, but they’re still ever-present. I’m trying not to be afraid.
There are still so many things I fear. All tied up in myself. I fear tomorrow – the sabotage may have extended into places I wasn’t ready for. At least, not consciously. Yes, I keep harping on how I love change, but like most, I prefer those changes I myself control. That’s what the buzzing is – a reminder that it’s not all up to me. Not the awake, egotistical me. Maybe the Higher Self me, the girl behind the curtain, but she isn’t the one steering the eyes-open ship. She isn’t the one who has a grip on all this . . .anxiety.
I am reminded today of how secretive I am. The things I hide are both miniscule and gargantuan, and I’m starting to learn a bit more about the motivation. I am aces at punishing myself. Why I think I deserve such agony – that’s the core. It doesn’t feel like past life/karmic debt, but I’m going to back to the Amazon to explore that option more. No, it seems more like a challenge to see how much I can really take. I feel somewhat desperate to prove my strength, but only to myself. Not sure why that matters so much. In any event, I feel like it’s proven. Repeatedly. So my vision is to let that go already and just be Real.
I watched Capote yesterday – the consummate writer. He preached about the importance of the truth but lied at every turn. Of course he did – he was a story teller. He was full of self-hatred like the rest of us. And even though he became the most famous writer in America, he never published another book after reaching such success, and drank himself into oblivion.
I can relate. The writer’s path. But I’m fighting back.
Shhhh, that’s a secret.
