Developing spiritually, “getting better”, is one of the scariest things you can do.
It reeks of the fear people that tongue their medication and secretly spit it out a minute or two later have.
As someone that spent their teenage years in constant anguish, always being studied, often being given pills, I understand what both phenomenas feel like.
Flash forward, and now I’m twenty-one and it’s years later. I’m not in laboratories anymore, I’m not in shrink offices anymore. I’m alone in my bed in my room, trying not to think about everything I’ve been through and seen, wondering if it’s even worth it to ward my house, banish my rooms, align myself, protect myself, meditate, and move forward with my life. I wonder if I’m worth self-protection, if I’m worth effort, if I’m worth discipline.
Both contexts, years apart, gave me the same questions, that are common amongst everyone who’s scared of their life to change.
“What if I try, and my health doesn’t improve?”
“What if the medicine, or the spiritual growth diminishes my identifiers, my superficial personality, who I’ve grown used to myself being?”
“What if I’m not as exciting, what if I’m not as noticeable when I’m better?”
“What if I’m lame when I’m ‘better’?”
“What the fuck does my ‘normal’ look like?”
“What if the pain doesn’t stop, and I ultimately fail?”
“What is so great about that other state of life, that I know nothing about? Why is it worth the effort?”
“What if I lose my passion, my inspiration, my creativity?”
“What if, by changing the life I have now, I lose what little life I have left?”
I tell my teacher that I’m good at meditation, and she doesn’t believe me. She gives me tips on how to do it.
“I’m good at it,” I insist, and she doesn’t believe me because I’m not doing it, and I don’t even know that she understands when I tell her:
“I’m so good at it, that I’m scared.”
She’s confused, and I tell her that after I meditate deeply and effectively, directionally, when light pours into me, that after that happens, I speak differently.
I walk differently, I look different, I’m so peaceful and serene.
“Why is that scary?” she says.
“Because it doesn’t feel like me,” I say. “It doesn’t feel like the dirtiness I’m used to, the word-vomit I’m used to, the pain I’m used to, and for a second I break my serenity and I worry that maybe I won’t get something back that I recognize again.”
Whether you’re growing spiritually, learning to let go, overcoming something terrible you’ve been given, or anything that requires self-transformation, you need to know that through improvement, you will never lose your passion and creativity, you’ll only be able to utilize it more effectively. You’ll transform into something more “you” than you are now. Who you were will always be a part of you, but the struggles of your past won’t have to control you anymore.
I’m actually glad I’m writing this now, because I’ve been engaging in forcing myself to handle my business astrally, daily, somewhat extensively, for a few weeks now, and now walking into my room feels more stained with a sense of home, rather than a place I self-destructively let things hover around me in, memories or external astral leeches, thinking I’m not worth the effort needed to develop.
I know that this fear is just fucking bullshit.