scan of a man's palm and fingers

What I think about, today.

About Israel: Stop, already.

I made a promise that I’d go inside and write something. Now I have.

Technically, I have fulfilled that promise. I can stop now, not feeling guilty at all because guilt is stupid, and because it’s not my responsibility to come up with the content of this post. If the Universe wants to say something, then the Universe is going to have to say it because I’m gonna keep my mouth more shut than usual.

I’ve got nothing useful to say, only words that serve me in some way.

To be fair to the Universe and the spirit of the promise — to write something — I admit above is more of a note.

The actual Universe is not likely to care what I do, so with whom did I make that promise? Was it my own subconscious? I’ll shut the fuck up (STFU) so we can get this done.

I am now shutting the fuck up.

Really quiet now, my fingers moving more slowly.

Nothing I type in can be directly from It. Everything I write comes through me and so it always reflects me in some way.

There is no secret key. There are no special powers. There is no particular path.

I think the Universe might appreciate it if you’d STFU for a few minutes, too. For those quiet moments you’re still the witness, the Universe’s point-of-view, but you’ll both enjoy it more.


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