This morning I noticed something simple — and big.
When I stop trying to understand reality,
and instead let attention rest where understanding collapses,
everything gets quieter… and easier.
Not numb.
Not spaced out.
Just less effort.
I wasn't adding anything.
I was withdrawing grasp.
Space being space.
Silence being silence.
Awareness aware of itself.
And out of that nothingness, Jason shows up.
What struck me wasn't the philosophy —
it was how good the emptiness felt.
Less load.
Less tension.
Less "me" holding myself together.
I keep a stack of 3x5 cards — summaries of years of work, alignment practices, lessons that earned their place by keeping me alive during seasons I wasn't sure I'd get through.
Some mornings I pull one like a tarot card and sit with whatever it says.
Today's card read:
"Connect to your inner being… then connect to the people, the land, and the money. Practice Daily."
That card was written during the hardest season of my life.
Family betrayal.
Inheritance lost — land, a home, a studio I'd built with my own hands, and the trust that held it all together.
The kind of loss that doesn't just take things from you.
It rearranges who you thought you were.
The "practice daily" part wasn't aspiration.
It was survival.
Connect to something real inside yourself first —
then face the wreckage.
That order was the only thing that worked.
And this morning, pulling that card, I realized —
I don't need it anymore.
Not because I bypassed the grief.
Because the grief moved through.
Years of it.
The order worked.
Rest first.
Then meet life.
And eventually, life meets you differently.
That's what I mean when I say order matters.
When I rest first —
and then meet people, memory, money, old wounds —
there's freedom.
When I reverse that order,
tension returns.
No fixing required.
No story needed.
Just this quiet recognition:
what's not there is doing most of the work.