Pink Slip to Me

When I wake up, my first inclination is to exhale. Not inhale–exhale.

That is the only difference I see with waking up and being born. Upon birth, the first thing you try to do is breathe in. Get in oxygen of your own not recycled from a host. That’s why babies cry upon leaving the host and entering the world as their own bodily organism. Crying helps to strengthen the lungs for the work they will now have to do each and everyday until their central command in the brain shuts down and no longer tells them to inhale and exhale.

So why do I want to exhale when I wake up? I feel like there is old hot stale air in my body. I feel like I just woke up from death. Kind of like, yet very different from, being born.

I exhale and then I yawn to take in the oxygen my brain is telling me that I constantly need.

I learned the other week that people get tired working out and start panting and heaving not because they aren’t getting enough oxygen quick enough, but because they are not expelling carbon dioxide fast enough.

I found that so interesting. And, being the hidden message explorer that I am, I figured there has to be some sort of symbolic meaning to that fact.

Holding on.

Holding on creates an excess–a build-up.

Constantly craving and wanting more leaves us with too much useless junk.

And too much useless junk can become toxic if not expelled or cleaned out.

I have a huge hoarding fear.

Like, HUGE.

I have a fear of possessions.

Like, HUGE.

I started reading the bible on my own somewhere around age nine. I remember vividly the first time I heard the passage from the book of Matthew: “And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”

That scared me. Well, a lot of other shit in the Bible scared me that I’m sure I’ve internalized to a neurotic degree. But, that verse stuck. I think about it probably every other day. I have a fear of having too much. I have a strong fear of it.

An aversion to abundance.

My mom always said she didn’t want storage space in her house because if you have the space, you will fill it.

She is right on that. I follow that maxim. I try to daily.

My money is spent on actually possessions less than 20% of the time. And I’m ok with that. I like spending my money on activities, anyway.

I also began to hear this one as I got older,

“What you own, owns you.”

Ain’t that the truth.

But the only thing I own is my car, my phone, my computer, my bed, and some clothes and shoes.

That’s it. No furniture. Not electronics. Not much.

Why do I feel owned?

Why do I feel a slave…to something…?…

My thoughts?

Perhaps…

Perhaps I feel a slave because I’m not ready to be free.

W.O.W.

That. Just. Came. Out.

Without a thought that came.

WIthout a blink of my eye.

I’m not ready to be free.

Bullet to my head.

I’m a slave to life.

I’m a slave to waking everyday and exhaling first before the unending breath of a new day begins.

I was born into this slavery and am figuring out how to purchase my freedom from the possession it has over me.

Everyday plotting an escape.

But until recently, I had no destination in sight.

It is there now. On the horizon of the setting of reality and the rising of imagination.

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About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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