I know when I'm getting closer to a big fat chunk of ego-resistance. I can feel it deep in the belly. I find it leaves me somewhat weak in the limbs, small of appetite, riding the brink of tears.
I hunker down, becoming familiar with its contours, the points of hardness, the depth of the knot.
And I know it's not real, I know it's not me, I know it's not abiding.
I can't just leave it to the side, though, because the only way out is through.
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