Sometimes, when I am settled, I feel an unsteady pressure deep inside.
Trying too hard to merge ideal and real leads one to this feeling of tension and unbalance, feeling uneven and up-set.
Freedom "from this counterfeit life" is how Pavel Anitpov puts it.
Perhaps in my case it is coming upon this self I have crafted with tool and device and finding it to be dead and ugly. Realizing this is false and thus, a counterfeit of the creation which was intended, leaves one with a pit in the stomach and a burning to fix it. Of course, trying to correct the errors with the same tools is not going to solve anything.
I think I am trying far too hard. After all, this kind of freedom does not come by human will or design.
Likewise, what of the other great powers that act in this world which I am only beginning to observe? I think I am trying to pretend to juggle them like oranges. Why can't I just leave them to do their work?
I try too hard to make. Silly little smudged sketches. So much more beautiful when they are left to form of themselves than when I try to steal the control away and make for myself.
It's the lesson of the lonely tea house or the Shinto wood, pure in simplicity, and the lesson of the Exodus 31:1-6, 36:2 and Exodus 20:25, Deuteronomy 27:6.
No wonder it feels so unsettling.