INTENTION

Aug 6

BETTER TO BE STARTLED THAN

To live in fear.

For a long time, I didn’t realize that by compulsively confronting things, I was actually just reinforcing the illness-consciousness within me.

Because I was always preparing to face something fully armed.
In doing so, I essentially created my future vision — one where the symptoms had the largest, most sprawling place.

Right there, where I could constantly keep them in sight.

I didn’t dare to look anywhere else, let alone relax, because I was afraid they might come up with something against me and strike at me in an unexpected moment.

So I prepared for every possibility.

As if I had to keep myself under constant surveillance, feeding the fire of the vicious cycle all the while.

They say: “Better safe than sorry.”

What a load of nonsense…

In reality, it’s much worse to live in fear than to be startled.

That’s one thing this period definitely taught me.

Looking back now, I would do many things the complete opposite of how I did them back then.

As hard as it may be, I would turn my attention away from the fight for a bit, trusting that my opponent might also take a rest in the meantime.
Then I’d simply imagine that I was well.

Maybe not seeing myself in the middle of a crowd at first, but somewhere where the environment supports that feeling.

For example, in a quiet, natural place where I could truly feel trust.
Because the seed of it is still there somewhere deep down.

If you’re clever and can really immerse yourself in it, sooner or later it will sprout.

Here, it’s not the thought but the feeling that matters — and that takes a lot of practice and effort.

If you’re persistent, there will be a moment when something shifts inside you, and suddenly you’re able to strike a string that evokes an emotion within yourself.

You have to experiment with this.

Try to recall memories that carry a positive emotional charge, and place them into an imagined situation.
As if you were just transplanting them.

It might not work overnight, but if you dedicate even just 15 minutes every evening before bed, it’s already a good starting point.
That’s the best way to keep it going.

Over time, it will feel like you’re just waiting for the next episode of your favorite evening series.

For a little while, you step into that reality where there is well-being.

Because there is.

No matter how much the ego tries to make us believe otherwise, it hasn’t disappeared — it’s still accessible.

And if you persist, you’ll be able to experience it more and more.

I recommend this as the very first — or rather, the “zero” — step.

I don’t want to make false promises; this alone won’t save you.
As I said, the root cause in such cases lies much deeper.

Still, it’s a good starting point that can loosen the grip of the vicious cycle a bit and begin rewriting the program.

But what’s even more important is that with this, you declare your intention for a purpose.

And if that intention is born in you sincerely, it sets a process in motion — one that will eventually bring you help and companions along the way.

That’s just how things work.

I was wired differently back then.

I was incapable of turning my attention elsewhere.

Yet something was born in me as well — something that, although not consciously, I managed to express beautifully at a certain point.

On the evening of January 1st, 2016.

I was lying on my bed, slightly hungover, and in my mind I was weaving my plans, with “being well” at the very top of the list.

I clearly had a lot of work to do.

But I still couldn’t see the direction, and that made me feel lost — a feeling only strengthened by the melancholy of the new year.

Everything seemed so empty and silent. I had no idea what this year had in store for me.

I remember I had just started my physiotherapy exercises around that time, and that gave my days a small boost.
It felt good to know I could still exert some kind of strength with my legs.

I pinned a lot of hope on maybe being able to put my rollerblades back on by spring — the same ones that had been gathering dust in the corner for months.

That was very important to me back then.

After five years, it had grown so close to me that it was practically part of my identity.
I promised myself that if I could start again, above all I would learn to truly enjoy it — instead of letting the pressure to perform dictate my movements.

Suddenly, my thoughts took me to that imaginary day when I would once again feel the friction between the rail and the grind plate under my rollerblades.

That sound is something wonderful…

I played with that thought, but when my eyes fell on my leg, I instantly returned to reality.

“What if my knee won’t allow it?”

“Who will I be without it?”

I had to face the fact that maybe it wasn’t worth dreaming just yet.
After all, I could barely leave the apartment.

There I was, caught between two fires, giving more space now to the positive, now to the negative thoughts.

I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t even notice one of my hands, which, on sudden impulse, grabbed an old newspaper and threw it into the trash.

That was followed by a few other bits of junk from the opposite shelf — and before I knew it, I found myself dismantling the bookshelf itself, screws and all.

In fact, it contained everything but books — anything that could express a wayward adolescence.

A lighter collection, whiskey bottles, useless rollerblade parts, cigarette papers, a graffitied street sign, Playboy magazines, and… fishing magazines.

I might come back to that last one.

The suddenly bare walls of my once junk-cluttered room had a liberating effect on me.

At the time, I didn’t understand where this urge had come from.

I simply felt the weight of everything I had accumulated around me over the years.

And that weight, combined with the atmosphere of the hangover-filled room, suddenly became very unpleasant.

So unpleasant that I had to get rid of it.

They were the imprints of a period that, in a sense, had long been a sinking ship — and on which I had stayed even after it went under, still gasping for air.

That’s what attachment can do.

Sometimes we do things whose significance we don’t realize at the time.

This was one of those moments.

I had to leave behind a period that no longer served me in any way.

Something was born in me then and there that day — but I didn’t know it yet.

A higher part of me, however, did.

It gave a clear sign that it was finally ready to let change in — and from that day on, it slowly began to flow in.