I stalk beliefs. I lurk around the corners of my mind, listening to what I think and to what I say, ready to pounce on a belief when it appears. When I catch one, I investigate it. Becoming as open and undefended as I can, I try the belief on. What is its purpose? How does it feel in/on my body?

Their purpose, it seems to me, is to make me feel safe, to make me feel less bewildered about life. But I have found that having a belief feels something like being encased in cotton batting, sticky cotton batting. They inhibit my breath, they cling to my skin, they make me feel energetically murky.

I don’t know what the purpose of life is, I don’t know why any of us is a living creature on this planet. It’s entirely possible that the purpose of life is to feel safe. But I think not. Safety takes up space that could be occupied by glory, by wonder, by awe, by curiosity. Glory, wonder, awe, joy, endless possibility — they feel spacious, airy, bright. There is no contest — they feel way better than sticky cotton batting.

So I stalk beliefs, and I’m glad when I catch one because then I can choose whether or not to keep it.