Procrasti-wasting

It’s bloody hard work to commit to yourself when you hang out with a one year old for twenty four hours a day! Starting this blog was meant to be a step in the direction of being more productive, but it’s actually been more a step towards chastising myself for not being productive enough. Perhaps I should cut myself some slack, because these impish little children are hard graft when you’re on your tod. I don’t think it is a fair representation to say that I don’t have time for myself to write or meditate or better look after myself. Granted I don’t have much time, though I definitely have enough to at least get started.

Pain suits

I might be harping on about this but if there are other angles maybe it will better resonate.

An analogy. Kinda…

I was born pure and pain free into a world that hasn’t been free from pain for a long, long, long time. Everyone I met from day one had pain. Some more than others, but everyone had endured suffering. Some wore it gracefully, others wore it honestly, some wore it with anger and vengeance, but mostly people wore it blindly.

I stored up pain. I stored up other people’s pain as my own – they instructed me on my worth, on my value, on my level of safety based on the level of comfort they had in their own pain endurance. I created a bank where I could make deposits and withdrawals of suffering as and when required. This bank had an endless supply because I could refill it as fast as I could empty it. I was using it to repay debts, I was spending it positively, I was saving it up for a rainy day… pain became a currency to me.