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[personal profile] rememberlove
I walked into my house this night. I was surrounded by thoughts and memories that made my stomach cringe, my churning sensation. This body of mine was flippant at the idea that I would have to spend another night in this home that I used to call a home and share with what I thought was my significant other. And then it dawned upon me. As I was about to send a message to a friend, wondering why the heck I was "projecting" my emotions onto the walls and ceiling, filling every crack and crevasse with the words, mine mine mine, I realized something. I realized that none of this was mine. That mine is not mine, it is mind. Mine is mind. The very thoughts I associated with "my house" and "my room," became seeds for attachment and seeds for self-destruction. I struggled with this as I thought to claim "my stuff" from another room in the house, yet ironically, none of those things were actually or are actually "mine."

The irony was that, yes I do have my preferences for a clean space and the house is a mess.

The difference between that statement and, my house is a mess, is seven fold.

"My" house denotes possession and ownership; the very root of which I am starting to understand. It is not my ownership over something that is necessary for me to be close to it. It is being close to it that creates a bond and connection. I was hell bent over possessing the space I live in and have lived in. Making it "mine," in an obsessive format and fashion (no pun intended). That attachment to the space I live in has created such vast projections all over it. Every inch of the space I have lived in I had to claim as my own and fight for it; what a mess!! That kind of sharp claim only leads to suffering. Of course I have things that I prefer and choose to enjoy, such as this computer, keyboard and a place to lay my head, yet it is not truly "mine," for there is no such thing.

This is the illusion of money. I do not own the money, for if I own the money it begins to own me. I just receive the energy/money, move it around in my own style and will, and release it to pay for something I am looking for. Similar to creativity in a way, and yet it differs. To create, is not to own. To create is to allow and to love. To love something is really to let it go, something I am learning, now. So I let this space go around me. I let it all go, for as much as I prefer the space, it has never truly been mine to own and dominate, for that is painful, morose and filled with heavy attachment to concrete walls I now liberate myself from.
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