Madeleine Ryan

That's the best way to know anything, although no one ever tells you that. No one ever says, "Just use the expansive feeling in your chest to understand what's true, and what you want, and where to go, and what really matters," because they're too busy forcing you to learn from books that they're choosing, and pointing at whiteboards that they're writing on, and encouraging you to ask questions from curriculums that they've set.

Most people aren't cognizant of the fact that, in order to feel comfortable, they require others not to cry or do anything outside of the established code of conduct, which is an unspoken code of conduct, of course. Nevertheless, it must be adhered to, and implemented, through harnessing certain movements and non-invasive forms of eye contact, and it doesn't come naturally to me . . .

Dad preferred that I lean on him, and his philosophies, rather than on those of other people. So while he encouraged me to have an open mind, and to become my own person, and to think for myself, he was very wary about the person I was becoming, and the people I was listening to.

Everything comes alive when I'm technically by myself.

Hell is on earth. We create it. It isn't some faraway place that we get sent to once life is over, and we're being punished for all of our crimes, and indiscretions. Our crimes and indiscretions are the punishment. Anything that makes us feel shitty, and comes from a shitty place, and inevitably leads to the expansion of shitty-ness, is hell. Just as anything that gives us meaning, and comes from a meaningful place, and inevitably leads to the expansion of meaningfulness, is heaven.

Parting ways with someone or something doesn't always make sense, so people often create reasons to be angry and resentful, because it weaves a stronger narrative around the process of letting go. That way, they don't have to take responsibility for their part in it, because, you know. So-and-so was just a bitch and shit.

There's always an expectation that we aren't actually saying what we mean. Like, ever. It's assumed that our true intentions are hidden behind all of these curves, and blurs, and lies, and deceptions, and other people are supposed to do all of the workings out. So when we actually say something, it's presumed that we aren't actually saying it, and that we must be saying something else.

Far too often, privilege seems to be the result of conquering things, and stealing things, and copying things, and trying to make money out of things, before moving on to the next thing to conquer, steal, copy, and make money out of. . . . It's as if nothing is sacred to us except for money and our own whiteness. We don't care for what we have. We don't use our so-called privilege very responsibly so, more often than not, we don't seem very privileged at all.

It's so funny how we can go without food or water for days, and we can hold our breath for minutes at a time, and yet we can't go without experiencing ourselves for a millisecond. There's no way of escaping our inner world. Information keeps rolling in, and rolling out. It's constantly being sensed, and felt, and observed, and assessed. It's endless.

It's important to resist the urge to put things we can't comprehend into cages and to try to make them dance for us.