I’ve noticed something in myself that has become impossible to ignore. There is a nearly perfect correlation: when I listen to political content—podcasts, YouTube videos, or when I immerse myself too deeply in political headlines—I start to fall asleep. And this doesn’t only happen when I’m already tired. I can feel energized, motivated, and fully awake, and then the moment I turn toward politics, I begin to doze off.
This has happened so often that I no longer consider it coincidence. I see it as causal. It happens during the day or at night, whether I’m rested or not. I now understand that anything that pulls me out of alignment drains my energy—and politics, for me, does exactly that.
Why is politics out of alignment?
The moment I take in political information, my mind engages automatically. It analyzes what’s being said: Does this match my experience? Does it align with my understanding of reality? An opinion forms almost instantly. And once that opinion exists, an opposing view inevitably appears. Duality is created. Polarity emerges. There is right and wrong—and, of course, my own view becomes the “right” one.
That’s natural. But beneath it lies something more troubling.
Once someone is “wrong,” they become less than. I’ve been doing this all along. Even after my awakening, when my mind tries to soften the judgment with compassion—telling itself that people who support cruelty must be emotionally injured—it is still engaging in separation. I may explain their behavior through trauma, but I am still placing myself above them.
Would I even perceive others this way if I hadn’t first taken in the information, formed an opinion, and assigned it value? The answer is no.
As always, the problem is me. Not anyone else. No one is less than.
Not long ago, Portland, Oregon was portrayed as a dystopian war zone—a city supposedly so out of control that the National Guard had to be sent in to stabilize it. I knew this wasn’t true. I have a sibling in Portland. It is a peaceful, fun, quirky city. When videos surfaced showing exactly that, I judged the people who had believed the lie. I thought they were gullible. Or unintelligent. Less than me.
But the truth is harder to accept: I was the one being gullible. I was blind to the pattern in myself. I didn’t see how quickly I judged, how easily I separated myself from others, how willingly I denied what I already know to be true—that everyone is me.
If you’re reading this, the same is true for you. You are part of the whole. Everyone is you, too. The only difference is whether or not this realization has occurred—and if it hasn’t, then you are exactly where you need to be. You are where your soul has brought you, learning the lessons it needs to learn.
This realization has made me emotional today. Seeing how I’ve undermined myself—voluntarily, unconsciously—is difficult to sit with. I feel genuine remorse for the judgments I’ve made. And yet, I was always in the right place. This insight is simply another step on the path.
For context, I’ve always been interested in politics. As long as I can remember, I’ve paid attention to the news. I grew up in the shadow of Vietnam and Watergate. I learned early that politics has real consequences for real people. That understanding likely formed around the Kent State tragedy. I remember watching a made-for-TV movie about it as a child and crying. Students protesting a senseless war—one that put their lives on the line—were shot by the National Guard. Four were killed.
What shocked me later in life was learning that many parents supported the guards’ actions. They came from a generation shaped by World War II, a generation that didn’t question authority. If the country went to war, you supported it.
Stories like that, along with learning about the Holocaust, shaped me deeply. I believed it was essential to know these things. I supported activism. I believed in fighting for just causes. Combined with my obsessive curiosity about the world, this became a compulsion to understand global events and political systems.
But today, all of that energy feels wasted.
Because the separation we experience through political identity is also separation from self. I feel this profoundly. I share this history only to explain why breaking my lifelong habit of consuming the news has been so difficult. Yet I no longer feel I have a choice.
The only injured person in my world is me.
I cannot continue as an obsessive news consumer. My energy drains when I do. If I persist, it feels as though I will continue to fade—until there is nothing left.
Another layer has fallen away.
No comments:
Post a Comment