So Fucking What?

This past week energetically I have entered the void. I’ve been here before. It’s a place of stillness where I am called to empty myself out. It’s a sense of floating in empty space.

The mind hates the void. It needs a narrative to define itself even if that narrative is full of fear and pain. The void is always an opportunity to sit and observe what my limited self tries to fill it with. It always presents an old story, or an old fear often wrapped in a shiny, new, package.

I have boundless compassion for myself. Unconditional Love is always the answer. Yet I know my little fear monster well. He’s a slippery little fucker. Sometimes, in order to get through to him, the Love and Compassion need to be wrapped in the softest velvet. And sometimes it must be wrapped up in leather and studs.

Lately I’ve been serving up the more badass version of Love to him. When he presents his tales of what could go wrong, I say “So fucking what?” He tells me all sorts versions of the worst case scenario. So fucking what? He says “But Andrew what if that one super scary thing happens?” So fucking what? If I fail, if I fall, if I make a fool of myself then So Fucking What? If I am rejected, scorned, excluded? So Fucking What? If I lose it all, end up living in a box on the streets and nobody ever hears of me again? So Fucking What? If get hit by a bus, get sick and die, then So Fucking What?

There’s great freedom in losing my attachments. There’s power in interrogating my fears. There’s magic in calling my inner bully’s bluff. So when your inner terrorist gets lit and tries to scare you half to death with a litany of things that may or may not ever happen. Turn on your heel, stand tall and strong, take a deep breath, look him straight in the eye with a smile on your face and love in your heart and say: So. Fucking. What.