Habits and presence

What’s a mystery from your own life that you’ve never solved?

“You have the right to perform your duty, but not to the fruits of your actions.”

The gust of wind came again—sharp, deliberate—brushing against the left side of my neck. This time it carried something stronger: the unmistakable smell of Brylcreem, thick and lingering, like a presence standing too close, breathing against my skin.It was not just sensation.It felt specific. Personal.

I had just written about the blaming game.And then the question turned inward.What am I doing?

The thought didn’t arrive softly. It cut through everything—through the discomfort, through the need to name what I felt, through the quiet urge to point outward and say something else is causing this.

Manipulation.

Instigating.

Ignoring.

Three patterns I had been carrying, as if they were destructive weapons and shields at the same time.Every time I tried to control outcomes, I called it survival—but it was manipulation.

Every time I stirred reactions, I called it expression—but it was instigation.

Every time I withdrew and shut people out, I called it peace—but it was ignoring.

The scent of Brylcreem lingered in the air, heavy, almost intrusive. The wind touched my neck again, sharp enough to demand attention.

But something shifted.Instead of chasing the presence—naming it, fearing it, resisting it—I stayed still.I began to see something clearer.

These habits were learned.

Not original.

Not permanent.

I came with nothing. No need to manipulate. No need to provoke. No need to ignore.

Somewhere along the way, I picked them up, layer by layer, until they felt like identity.But they are not identity.The wind returned, carrying that same scent. Close. Uninvited.

And yet, I did not react the same way.

If I fed it with fear, it stayed.

If I fed it with reaction, it grew.

If I stopped—completely—it lost its grip.

So the question changed.

Not “Who is this beside me?”But “What in me is still reacting?”

No more shaping people.

No more provoking tension.

No more silence used as avoidance.

Just action—clear, direct, without attachment to outcome.The presence—whatever it was—no longer held the same weight.Because the shift was not outside.

It was here.I act. I release. I move.And slowly, something loosened.The need to control.The habit of blame.The illusion that these patterns were who I am.They are not.

They never were.“Abandon all varieties of duties and simply surrender unto Me. I shall liberate you from all sins; do not fear.”

The wind may return.

The scent may linger.

But I no longer follow it.