I think my ex-boyfriend went to a witch doctor to put a curse on me. One of them must have, anyway, or maybe they went in on it together. To defray costs, I guess, or because there was a 2-for-1 special.
But then again, my yogi tea tag the other day—on a cup of Kava Stress Relief, I’m almost sure of it—told me to recognize that the other person is me, so it’s possible I went to the witch doctor and put the curse on myself.
A job is lost. Interviews lead to nowhere, lead to me doing something I’m not made for, something that can’t fulfill. Pipes freeze. A car breaks down just after it’s paid off. Bills pile up. Medical expenses arise from nowhere. Maybe there is no witch doctor and this is just life. Another day, another setback. Maybe another dollar, if I’m lucky, though usually I’m not.
What is it that holds us in place, keeps us spinning our wheels in a perpetual state of inability, of stuckness, of immobility?
Yesterday, I watched as Neil DeGrasse Tyson explained Earth’s tiny place in the cosmos, one planet in one solar system in one galaxy, in one group of galaxies in one cluster that is in one universe, bumping up against infinite bubbles of other universes, that each hold infinite planets and stars and galaxies themselves.
A writer I follow wrote today about a meditation retreat, about the idea of anicca, that it means impermanence, it means transient reality, it means state of flux, it means tomorrow will look nothing like today. It means, as she writes, “it won’t always be this bad so what is the point of stressing about it.”
I am a tunnel. I am a tunnel in a web of connections and things pass through me, the good & the bad. I am made of starstuff and all the pieces of me have seen the big bang, seen light where there was nothing before. The witch doctor has, too.