Writing poetically, as I did in my last post, allows me to record more of my experience. It's a more direct brain-to-language transfer that is faster and less fatiguing.
This morning on the bus I found my mind racing with typical concerns. I shifted attention to the sensations in my body. I felt a quantum increase in my gut-level confidence that the thoughts were not primary and not important -- that they were fueled by the sensations and that I could safely let them go. It seemed that the balance had shifted.
I enjoyed watching the sensations. They were pleasurable. And they bring up fear. It's becoming more and more clear to me that the fear is ancient and not connected to present reality, even though it triggers so many thoughts of unpleasant things that will or might happen in my actual future. It's great to just feel the fear, and not worry on top of that that I ought to be doing something. Still, to the extent that I still believe the fear (and I do still believe it to a significant extent), I do not rejoice in the pleasures of the sensations. I do not rejoice that I am finally becoming free. I rejoice in an abstract sense, but feelings of joy are still absent.
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