In this infinite castle there are countless rooms to explore, each with its own secret and treasure. I have a few questions for the one who wanders through this castle every day.

I see you’ve found certain rooms that you can’t seem to leave. Add it all up and you’ve spent entire years in some of these rooms. You might venture out for a while, go down an unknown corridor or into a new wing, far and wide, high and low, but you always return to these particular rooms, as if you must. But must you? Why do you keep going back to them, over and over again? Nothing wrong with it. Just, why? Have you not heard the fullness of the secrets inside? Is there more treasure? Or is it something else? What keeps bringing you back? What is driving your movement?

And why do you constantly revisit the rooms that scare the shit out of you? You don’t have to go in them, you know. If it scares the shit out of you, then it scares the shit out of you. Just leave it at that. There are countless other rooms to explore in this castle, remember? But your own fear is magnetic; it’s attracted to that which will help it proliferate. Why do you acquiesce? Perhaps you don’t like knowing there’s something out there that has that kind of power over you, the power to so unsettle you. So you keep going back to these rooms, to see if you’re stronger this time, to see if you finally might be more powerful than the boogeymen inside. See the problem with that? You’re acting as if there’s an enemy to be conquered, something to be defeated, destroyed. Put it another way: you’re expecting whatever’s inside that room to conquer you, defeat you, destroy you. Of course you feel afraid! Who wouldn’t, going into it like that? If you can’t see that this is your perspective, and if you can’t change that perspective before entering the room, then just don’t go in, okay? Move on. But it’s up to you, of course.

My next question: Why do you care so much about all the closed doors, the ones that won’t open for you? Why do you sit outside these doors, wailing to be let inside? Why do you rage, hammering at the unbreakable wood? Why, good wanderer, oh why, do you sit there in vain protest, refusing food and water, waiting for the door to open? “But I had a glimpse inside before the door shut,” you say to me, “and it was so beautiful.” It was, was it? “Yes,” you say. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It must be my home, the place where I belong.” It’s so sweet, to witness your tender longing, but don’t you see the obvious? The door is closed! Locked! This room is not meant for you right now, and it may never be. There are other rooms waiting for you in this infinite castle, open and ready, and yet you sit outside this one locked door, wailing and raging. Let me say it loud and clear, what the door would say if it could speak: you’re not invited. It’s not personal. You’re the one who’s making it personal. Just move on, wanderer. Say to yourself, “I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to give my life away to some locked room that doesn’t even want me inside it.” Say to yourself, “Oh hell no, I will not believe that the treasures and secrets meant for me don’t want me to receive them.” Pick yourself up off the ground and walk on, saying, “I’ll be goddamned,” and “Oh hell no,” until you don’t need to say it anymore, and you can just enjoy the exploration again.

Another question: Why do you follow your fellow castle wanderers? Why do you believe they know the way? Can’t you see there is no way? It’s an infinite castle. There’s no end to it, so of course there’s no way, no one way to some arbitrary, imagined finish line. There’s only the exploration, and you can do whatever you want with that. But still, you follow, assuming others know best. You hear a crowd in one room, and you think that that room must be the room, the place where it’s all going down, the ultimate secret and treasure. You don’t want to miss out, don’t want to get left behind. But you’re forgetting: it’s just another room! It’s got a big crowd inside. So what? In this infinite castle, you’ll find countless rooms with big crowds. The drive to find the best room with the biggest crowd, how exhausting that must be for you. How much it must hurt, too, because at the root of it is the belief that you are incomplete, unrealized, and that you will remain so until you find that ultimate room, elusive and exclusive…”But what if you never do?” whispers the fear. That’s pain, believing you are not enough exactly as you are, here and now.

Which brings me to my last question: How long will you wander this infinite castle until you no longer need to? How long will you insist upon entering this room and that room, seeking secrets and treasures, room after room after room? When will you stop, at last, and fully enter the room inside yourself? When will you start listening to the secrets there, and believe in them? When will you recognize the treasure-in-plain-sight that is you, and care for it accordingly? This castle is infinite, so it will indulge your wanderings forever. It’s up to you how long you’ll go, until you’ve had enough, until you realize that these rooms have nothing you don’t already have, that they cannot give you that which you have not first given yourself. How long, wanderer? How long?

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