security

It’s like a warm blanket wrapped in the familiar. Only everyday, its smell changes into the unfamiliar. The ends tattered and worn, through life, hold on. The seams begin to loosen and take an odd-melting-like shape. This security becomes soft, the shell worn, far from purchase. It’s this blanket that continues to cycle through washes, wears, and tears as though the years that addition your life, build into new, away from the comfort of layered cloth. What was once so bright and fresh, laid to secure has become stretched and torn, weathered from the life endured. The security you crave will always take on new shape. Maybe that means stripping down to a freezing-chill before we take comfort in the warmth of what always was, the thinking of how it “should” be, and masking ourselves to the delusions of easy. Maybe the real work is to get freezing-hot with questioning the ways it’s always been done, to think beyond the external, and dive in to the deepest and darkest parts into the greatest uncertainty of it all.
Some look for balance by getting even. Tucking away emotions as if the parade is to keep calm and move on. Hiding behind the currency of acceptable victim-hoods to shovel the certainties you ache. The games that people play to swindle and manipulate are the very games that don’t move much beyond the superficial. So worried about the other without understanding that he or she is actually the other. You place the others like a chess piece only to reveal that you are only playing yourself. As if a victory over another keeps your power intact. It does not, true power is your soul in action. 
People will charge you for not playing the game, they’ll boast their hurts and finger points for gain, and they’ll never understand that you are simply not their opponent until they’re willing to get freezing-hot in the work they refuse to seek. 
Bypass the bullshit. Penetrate the superficial. Security blankets off. Bare as the air. Here you are, alive and wild and free. Fine-tuning and waking up yourself. #wordiness