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The Futility of Resisting Liberation by Connie Assadi
 

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  • That house? You know the one, the one you have constructed out of words and dreams and shoulds and woulds and coulds. You know the one, the one that keeps you safely self incarcerated inside your prison of thought. The one where every onslaught, every challenge, every anomaly in your carefully constructed world is met with clever justification, ingenious accusations, a shrewd repair here and there to keep the whole structure in tact. The one that you have under complete control because the thought of not knowing what comes next is too terrifying, the idea that you are not the center of the universe too demoralizing.

    That house? That house is burning down. Maybe just smoldering right now, maybe just a little smoke and you have installed fancy smoke detectors to keep damage to a minimum. Maybe you have the flames contained to one room and you have shut it off, you keep busy soaking towels and wedging them under the door to keep the flames from encroaching.

    But you know. At some level you know it's just a matter of time. You will eventually have to accept it.

    Our houses are burning down.

    There are no borders, no boundaries, no limits. We stand naked in the winds of the universe.

    And you, if there is a you, you know nothing.

    Nothing at all.

    Free at last.

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