Without regrets

The probable outcome of my expression these days is the experience of healing and integration. If your experience is in that camp, I count it wonderful.

An improbable-but-inevitable outcome of my expression is the experience of deep wounding and fragmentation. If your experience is in this camp, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. You are sane. Your distress is real and important and I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know when you'll see this, or whether by the time you do you'll recognize yourself as the one who was wounded.

Awareness spreads — it seeks novel configurations of experience. It spreads like ink on a napkin, filling in all the gaps.

There are places that Awareness can only get to by getting the kind of wounds you can only get from me.

This doesn't invalidate the wounding.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I ... fuck.

If you're open (and you probably aren't! that's okay! stop reading here!), I offer myself. Like, the rest of me. Add it all up and judge it fairly, I don't care. I mean I do care, but please, yes, I have no defense. I won't defend myself. There's nothing to defend.

It will get better.

It always gets brighter.

I'm so sorry.

You will be okay.

🫀