Why “Spiritual Bypassing” is Bullshit

There is nothing you can do wrong. This whole idea of not growing into selfless presence because we cling to spiritual names and experiences is erroneous. There is no presence free of self, until there is. The self is often a part of the present experience. And there is nothing wrong with it. Growth is learning to love and accept our present experience, whatever it may include. Yes it includes grasping to spiritual identities. Yes, it includes clinging to enlightened experiences. Yes, it includes not growing as fast as we may like, because we are not ready to let go of the safety blanket of ego-assuaging and pain-avoiding mental indulgences. You cannot bypass Presence. And you don’t need to worry about growing. Growth happens when life knocks you down. And that will happen regardless how wide or comfortable the blankets you use to shield yourself. Nothing can protect you from the cold hard ground of reality. But it is perfectly natural and acceptable to cling to the comfortable clouds of illusion that appear along our constant descent. Let life be the catalyst for growth. It will not fail to destroy and rebuild you, again and again.

Everything’s okay

Sinking feeling, one of many

Sweat on a warm day, warm tea to boot

Desire for love, approval, eternal

Like sweat on summer days

Perspiration of the soul,

The anxiety of being unknown.

Turn on the fan. Relief of wind and love.

Air waves and ripples of remembrance,

That everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.

Toe fungus is lovely insofar as it’s Life.

Otherwise it sucks, and I am keen to uproot it.

Same goes for suffering, dolor, and grief.

Lovely. Life. Come back another day.

Hello, goodbye. I embrace you. Now die.

Everything’s okay.

Words of widsom: let it be. But it’s already allowed.

There is no “letting” to be done.

“Letting” is only known.

The only constant. As eternal and ethereal as the space between the stars.

The space between our thoughts.

Everything is fine.

What Are We?

Particles dance in a destined flurry. Humans yell and sing.

Cute little carbons coordinate. Flecks of oxygen fly. Animals eat and sleep and love.

Letters jumble. Words abound. A thousand strokes of pen stain the page.

Characters come to life. Colors and conditions do too.

The only question is: are we atoms or are we animals? Are we words or are we characters?

Or are we the Space beneath them all?

 

From The White Blank Page, by Akira Sieben

 

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