Shit Stack

Their Wack Vibe Doesn't Justify Yours (An Essay)

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Another person’s wack vibe or move doesn’t justify or have anything to do with your own wack vibe or move that you misperceive is ‘because of’ or ‘in response to’ their supposed wackiness.

Your shit is YOUR shit.

Your vibe is YOUR vibe.

Your move is YOUR move.

No matter who or what you think is influencing it.

Deferring to the external or to another is a choice.

Elevating another above yourself is a choice.

Trusting another over yourself is a choice.

Not making your true move right now because of whatever the fuck you think matters more than that, is a choice.

There are no victims here.

You are fully responsible for taking care of your own side of the court.

Always.

And blaming another / using them as your excuse for your decision to abandon yourself, ain’t the vibe.

Owning that you left home and returning to where you belong, IS.

(Although we’re never not HOME; except through misperception)

You don’t even need to take your transgression up with the other (unless that’s the true move) because it was never about the other in the first place.

You did that all on your own.

You were given a perfect opportunity to choose truth, to choose YOU, regardless of who or what was in front of you, and it felt safer / easier / more acceptable / less vomit-inducing not to, so you didn’t.

So what.

Choose again.

That was then and you’re here now.

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Smudge On The Eyes (An Essay)

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when there is smudge on the eyes

a distorted lens that discolours everything

one cannot see themselves

situations

or others

as they truly are

and…

in order to cope with that misperception of self

of the illusory other

of what is actually going on

(and the discomfort that arises from a truth one cannot own)

one projects what’s false

and deflects what’s true

effectively ‘protecting’ the illusion

while convinced it’s truth

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You're Killing The Vibe (An Essay)

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All the thinking about it and talking about it kills the vibe.

Chokeholds the magic.

Loops bullshit on repeat.

And inevitably goes nowhere.

All the analysis.

The comparing.

The measuring.

The regulating.

All the layers you add to what’s meant to be bare.

All the ways you jam your system just because you intervene.

A system that naturally runs as it’s meant to, without you doing a thing.

All the intellectualizing.

Content-seeking.

Meaning-finding.

Matter-bonding.

All of it does nothing.

Except fill what you misperceive needs filling.

Tainting what was already pristine.

Because the ‘space’ is just too much to take.

So you exhaust yourself creating a bunch of new shit,

to make sure you’re never free of said shit.

And also never full of what’s true.

All the ways you run from this moment.

From truth.

From the gorgeous depths of YOU.

And for what?

To keep seeking what you already are.

And never finding what’s already here.

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The Bullshit of High-End Coaching (An Essay)

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Last year a hottie made a comment to me about the low caliber of client that comes with charging low prices.

And she was really sold on this bullshit narrative because she was being charged, and was charging, a wild amount for ‘high-end’ coaching at the time.

Which in and of itself isn’t an issue.

I’m pointing to the idea that a certain price point yields a certain quality of person.

It doesn’t.

Energy leads.

Not money.

I worked with Sanna for a year and didn’t pay a dollar for it.

As if I was a low calibre client.

As if she wasn’t the best ‘mentor’ on the fucking planet despite not charging me a penny.

Nothing was reduced just because a dollar amount wasn’t attached and a dollar wasn’t exchanged.

But I digress.

A couple of weeks ago, the said hottie took me up on my $50 for 30 minute deal (a rare deal since I currently charge $750 USD for a 30 minute call).

I was delighted.

Obviously her narrative had changed, and we had a beautiful call unrelated to money.

Then last week, she asked to book a second call to talk specifically about money.

Because despite investing in and offering ‘high-end’ coaching, it hadn’t really panned out, her money was almost gone, and she was starting to freak the fuck out.

I asked how much remained.

The number was hella low.

And that number turned me on because of how low it was.

Because crunch time means truth time so let’s fucking GO.

Let’s get to the guts of what was avoided when she spent and made those big dollars while by-passing the absolute truth.

Because if the investment and the sales were sourced from that (meaning there was no matter whatsoever), she wouldn’t be freaked out by this low number and she wouldn’t fear what may or may not come from this point on.

She’d also see that the anxiety isn’t from a dwindling bank account at all.

It was always there.

Reliant on, and in response to, illusory external security (and lack thereof) since the internal still lacks the stability required to feel secure regardless of externals.

Now it’s just being highlighted.

Damn, I love the crunch.

Because despite appearances, the crunch doesn’t create anything that wasn’t already there.

It just just shows you exactly where you’re at.

What you’re REALLY working with.

And how easily you can be moved.

And that you still have work to do.

Because if you’ve been using money or another as the buffer between you and YOU, you’re gonna come face to face with that in the absence of the money or the other.

Good.

Now we’re actually getting somewhere.

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There Is No Final Frontier (An Essay)

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There is no last piece.

No final frontier.

No specific area(s) you need to work out once and for all and then you’ll be good to go for the rest of your life.

Nope.

The game has no end.

You’ll never be done.

And the work remains the same.

You’re just playing with matter and its inevitable dissolution.

Regardless of the content or density.

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Managing The Bottomless Pit (An Essay)

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If you’re managing your thoughts,

you’re managing matter.

If you’re managing your emotional state,

you’re managing matter.

If you’re managing your health,

your finances,

your relationships

or any other part of your life,

you’re managing matter.

Seems like a lotta fucking work.

Exhausting, never-ending, bottomless pit work.

Because there will always be thoughts and emotions.

There will always be the body, other people and the bank account.

There will always be the woes of the world and this strange little thing called life.

But those things on their own are never the ‘issue’,

no matter what they are or aren’t comprised of.

It’s all the matter surrounding them that causes you grief.

Clear that and there’s nothing left to ‘manage’.

Every (illusory) problem solved.

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Don't Touch Their Shit (An Essay)

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People don’t shit on my posts.

But I see people shitting on other people’s posts.

And then people responding to said shit.

Engaging with said shit.

Thereby creating even more shit.

But here’s the thing.

You don’t have to touch another person’s shit.

Ever.

You can actually just let the person sit in their shit.

You can refuse to partake in their self-created shit show.

And when their thrown-about shit has nowhere to stick,

it lands exactly where it belongs.

With the shit disturber themself.

Who is now being confronted with their shit that wouldn’t stick.

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