There’s a lot of clinging.

Clinging to identities

Clinging to identities

Clinging to ideas

Clinging to people

Clinging to the past 

Clinging to an idea of what you think your life should be. 

What happens when you let go of the need to hold on?

Let go of what you think makes you you

And check into who you are.

Without the clothes

Without your status as a boss

Or a goth, or a skater

Or a fuckup, or a sober person

Or a Christian or an atheist.

You are not the religion you practice

Or the clothes you wear

Or your yoga community

You are not your achievements 

Or your awards.

You are not the money in your bank account

Or the lack thereof.

You are not the result of your experiences

The ones that you have chosen and

The ones that have happened to you.

You are not the numbers of days that you’ve meditated 

Or remained sober

You are not the diplomas on your wall

Or the pictures of the mountains you’ve climbed.

You are not what you have achieved

Or have yet to accomplish.

What do you see when you stop clinging to an identity?

“I am this person who ____”

Fill in this blank.

We cling to these ephemeral nomenclatures.

We give meaning to the meaningless.

We hunt for treasure and truth 

Only to find out it was always a mist.

Fabrications meant to sooth us 

Into the traumatic experience of being a human.

Meaningless titles and tribes 

To give us a guidebook 

Of how to do life.

Where do you we go when it’s all stripped away?

Down into nothingness 

Skin rubbed raw of any semblance of societal norms.

Who are we when we are nothing?

When all is laid bare

And everything is gone 

Only one truth remains:

Love is all there is.