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  • Writer's pictureFreya Savage

It all bores me

Blind to what is known. I’m not given the details.

'Sit there' she commands.

So I sit, waiting for the interest to come.

But it all bores me.

I wonder if I should have blown up the containers, at least they gave me something to play with.

I thought that when I took the action, when I said NO, that greatness would fill my life right away.

And as I write I know that's why it doesn't come.

Because I said no with the attachment of filling the space.

The no is for the no.

Not for the next thing.

To sit in the void, in the emptiness.

Waiting for the next direction, waiting for the next catch to be brought to me.

No waiting, she says.

The high self does not wait. When I say high, it’s not because she is better, there is no better or worse here, but she is high because she knows it all, she can see it all.

She sits in the void with no attachment to the next thing.

She always chooses to sit in the void rather than in a room full of noise and people playing games that are not her own.

The void becomes her castle, without walls.

She begins to feel the potency of being here, in the no-thing.

Instead of seeing it as grey and boring, she starts to feel it, it's the only place where the tension can be built up.

The tension so great that this is the turn-on itself.

'Sit here and do nothing' becomes errotic.

This is not the kind of tension that crushes you, but the kind that expands you, the kind that feeds you.

But she needs no food.

And this is why the no-thing feeds her soul.

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