We live in a world that bows at the feet of continual effort. The push to ‘succeed’. The need to ‘achieve’. The grasping for ‘growth’. We are belaboured with (well-meaning) sentiments that beseech us to dig deep, try harder and extend further in the effort to get somewhere that we’re supposedly not (yet).

But in all the effort, it’s easy to lose the magic and miss the mark. The dance passes us by and we’re left wondering what it was all for. Growth is an innate element of life - oftentimes simply strangled by the effort we exert.

Independent effort leading to success is a fallacy. A figment of the imagination, created by some distorted perception of disconnection.

Creation is a dance of relation. Your success is a conversation with life. Your achievement is the art of your heart.

Your growth may look nothing like you intended, and yet, it is an inevitability. Stop fighting and instead soften into the form unfurling within you.

Overstretched with effort.

Contorted with trying.

This striving turns out to be a form of lying,

Like some fancy dress

that ends up making me less

the beauty than I am.

I put on too much make-up.

And it runs rivers down my face,

becomes sweat-laced with all

of this pretence.

Give up, god damn it.

Give up. Let go.

Stop all the pushing,

and contriving.

Give up.

Give up to rise.

Fall on your knees and sob.

Let the hopeless tide rise

and rob you of all hope.

Until you land in that place,

where there’s nothing to lose

and you leap, finally free.

Because you’re no longer held

in the bind of your own grasping mind.

It’s all over, so it can begin again.

You gotta give up, to get started.

You gotta strip bare, to get there.

To the place, where all possibility arises.