I am trolling a Facebook page. I am. I admit it and confess it. One part of me can’t help itself, the other part doesn’t want to.
Why? Why am I doing it? Because … because what is posted there is sooo … incomplete. So incomplete. It is about life, seemingly it is about what we are, but it isn’t really. It is about fear. It is about the desire to disappear, to hide, to fade into the background and let life live itself.
I know this desire well. I shared it with this page’s administrators for most of my life. I wanted to be invisible, I wanted to drift through my existence lost in my head, lost in books, lost in emotions. I did not want to step up, step forward, step into reality.
I know this trauma well. I worked with it, struggled and wrestled and made some small progress out into the world, out into life, out into myself.
I experienced myself. I felt myself. In life, in the existence, in the oneness that is everything I felt myself distinctly and uniquely, and I saw my life as an expression of what I am. I saw reality as an expression of what I am.
This is why I troll this page. Because when I read: “There is no “I” making it happen. Actions arise on their own, too. There is no doer deciding what to do, even thought it appears as if there is. Doing happens, walking happens, speaking happens – no doer involved.” I do not hear wisdom. I do not hear bliss and happiness. I hear fear and trauma. I hear the desire to disappear, to not be here, to not be real.
And I still struggle and wrestle to remain present with this trauma It icks me and hooks me whenever we meet. And so I am trolling a Facebook page.
