When sensation is absent, there is no doubt

I keep noticing that when I remove the embellishment—the prettiness, the romance, the special lighting—I still want the thing. Or rather, I’m already fine without it. The wanting only appears when sensation enters and I ask it to testify about my happiness.

That’s the mistake I’m no longer making.

When sensation is absent, there is no doubt. There is no question. There is a simple, quiet contentment that doesn’t announce itself and doesn’t need reinforcement. It doesn’t feel exciting, but it also doesn’t feel lacking. It feels complete.

Then sensation arrives—restlessness, energy, a flicker of longing—and immediately an old habit wakes up: What does this mean? What should I do? What am I missing? The doubt doesn’t come from the sensation itself. It comes from the interpretation layered on top of it.

For a long time, I believed sensation was evidence. That if something stirred in me, it must be pointing toward change, improvement, escape, or desire. I treated sensation as instruction. But now I see that sensation is just weather. It moves through, peaks, fades, and leaves the ground untouched.

The ground is where the truth is.

When I check there—beneath the sensation—I find that nothing is wrong. I’m not unhappy. I’m not stalled. I’m not secretly wanting something else. I’m simply alive, and aliveness has texture. Texture does not require response.

This is the part that used to scare me: if I don’t chase the sensation, if I don’t amplify it or solve it, will something dull or empty take its place? But that hasn’t happened. What’s taken its place is steadiness. And steadiness doesn’t clamor for attention, so it used to be easy to overlook.

I see now that doubt enters only when I ask sensation to justify my happiness. When I stop doing that, the doubt dissolves on its own. Happiness doesn’t disappear when sensation fluctuates. It survives it. It outlasts it.

I’m not becoming numb.

I’m becoming unfooled.

Unfooled by the idea that intensity equals truth.

Unfooled by the belief that wanting means something is missing.

Unfooled by the habit of confusing movement with meaning.

What remains isn’t flat. It’s grounded. It doesn’t sparkle, but it holds. And for the first time, I don’t feel the need to decorate it so I can trust it.

I can let sensation pass without consulting it.

I can let doubt appear without obeying it.

I can let happiness exist without proving it.

Nothing needs to happen next for this to be real.

It already is.

WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co