Control is an argument with reality.
Reality is always peaceful and kind before my story of a need to control.
So to argue with reality is to argue with peace. That’s why I suffer.
The only way to peace is to love what is (which does not mean liking, preferring or seeking to sustain it).
When I show up in love without the need to control, I’m like water, flowing effortlessly to the most humble, low places. In those places, all is well, all is connected and everything is whole. And when I am whole, I am peaceful, and I cannot help but express my peaceful wholeness to the world, whose wholeness returns back to me without any effort, wild and uncontrolled.
I notice that, in my mind…
When I try to make people strong, I weaken them.
When I try to protect people from harm, I harm them.
When I try to defend people, I attack them.
When I try to teach people, I confuse them.
When I try to open people’s minds, I close them.
When I try to change people’s minds, I harden them.
When I try to soothe people, I trouble them.
When I try to calm people, I inflame them.
When I try to quiet people, I amplify them.
When I try to rush people, I slow them down.
My desire for control sows the very seed of my suffering.