Editor’s note
A word on these posts before we get into it. These are reports not lessons. I don’t have answers - or solutions. I’m sharing here because I’m in rehab. Still repairing. And I feel compelled to.
If it works for you, great. Take what you need and leave the rest.
The ‘What are we optimising for’ post which went live yesterday wouldn’t feel complete without insight into what happened around the scheduled publish time.
This follow up keeps it real. Honours it.
Sunday evening. 45 minutes prior to the post going live. Resting up and was thumbing through a book. Mind focused on the publishing moment.
That’s when it came.
The fear dressed as prudence: “Stop. Pause it. It’s the end of ‘your’ reputation.”
Whose?
Body heat started to rise, sweat breaking out across the brow. At the desk in seconds, staring at the screen. Fingers poised over keys. Cortisol flood. The arm held across my chest. Fear…
Compression.
A ghost.
The event horizon was fast approaching, and at the point of no return, in the body, across the rails that had run the carriages for most of a lived life, neurons fired, tracks chiselled deep and well worn. The ghost spoke.
“Don’t do this.”
Asking to pull the emergency handle. Begging, pleading.
The situation poised on a tightrope. Genuine tension working the room. Yet, the body is alight, sensations running across hands and arms.
Facing the shadow. Watching. Still.
Music track. Hit play. Dreamstate Logic, Beyond the Veil, turned up loud, headphones on. Been playing all week during writing sessions.
Animations of the cosmos fill the screen. Locked in.
Box breathing… Tears. Emotion. A funeral then.
14 minutes… 4 minutes… 1 minute…
Live.
Shut the computer down, and a couple of seconds later the phone buzzes. Substack social creative, all dressed and ready for sharing.
Everything seen, felt and witnessed. Calm returns. Rest then sleep.
The morning routine. Day bright, strong sun with strong northerly winds breaking through the humidity. Tend to the animals and out the door with doggo onto the downs. Echoes of the day before. Damn, should have grabbed the voice recorder before setting out.
Less urgency. More stillness. No regrets.
And a different kind of emptiness. Space, with as yet unknown capacity.
Just another day. Now, here, present.
Back at base, grab an espresso and sit down in the garden. No meditation needed. Notes into the voice recorder and up to the office. Pulled there.
Writing into the calm now. Death into life itself. Further.
Report complete.