I'll put out the intention to follow this and see how it goes then!
Great!
Just the 'trying to fix it' that prolongs it out
Yep, it gets subtle.
Check out this new story by Vince Shubert, the wise storymaker of nonduality :-)
Naomi noticed it first as a micro-no.
Not a thought. A flinch.
She was lying in bed, afternoon light on the wall, trying to “rest” the way people say they rest—like it’s a task with a correct technique.
A tightness appeared under the ribs.
A small heat behind the eyes.
A pressure in the throat.
And then the familiar move:
This shouldn’t be here.
That was resistance.
She’d gotten good at spotting that one.
So she tried to do the “right thing.”
She softened. She allowed. She breathed.
And immediately—like a comedian stepping onto a stage right on cue—another movement arrived:
I shouldn’t be resisting.
That was resistance to resistance.
It wore a nicer outfit. It sounded wise, but it was still a no.
Naomi caught it and did what she always did when she caught something: she tried to fix it.
Okay… don’t resist the resistance to resistance.
And there it was again, even faster:
This is ridiculous. I’m doing it wrong. I should be beyond this.
That was resistance to the resistance to resistance.
A third layer.
It had judgement in it. A faint disgust. A tiny self-attack that felt like “motivation.”
She could feel each layer physically.
The first resistance: a hard clamp in the belly.
The second resistance: a tightening in the chest, like the body trying to manage itself.
The third: a prickling in the face and scalp, like a heat-map of embarrassment.
She lay there, watching it build like a stack of transparent plastic sheets.
Every sheet said “no,” but each one pretended it was “help.”
A thought came:
If I could just stop resisting, I’d be peaceful.
And then another:
If I could just be peaceful, I’d be awake.
And then another:
If I’m not peaceful, I’m failing.
Each thought felt like a little post-it note slapped onto raw sensation.
Post-its on reality.
Naomi had used that phrase before with the group.
Now she could see the entire wall papered with them.
She tried again: allow everything.
Instantly the mind produced its next innovation:
Fine. I allow… but I don’t like that I allow.
I don’t like that I don’t like that I allow.
I don’t like that I don’t like that I don’t like—
It was so fast it became almost musical.
And then something strange happened.
For a moment, the stack was seen as a stack.
Not as a problem.
Not as a spiritual test.
Not as “her.”
Just a self-replicating pattern: no-no-no-no-no, wearing different masks.
Her shoulders dropped half a centimeter.
A laugh started in the chest—small, involuntary.
Not because she’d succeeded.
Because she’d finally noticed the joke:
Even the attempt to be free from resistance was… resistance.
The nervous system trying to edit itself.
Control dressing up as acceptance.
A loop trying to outrun its own shadow.
The laugh got bigger when she felt the last move trying to happen:
Don’t laugh. Take this seriously. This is important.
She laughed again—louder this time—because even that was another sheet.
And the laughter wasn’t some enlightened bliss.
It was simple relief at seeing the mechanics.
Not “I’m better.”
Just: Oh. This is what’s happening.
And in that, the whole stack loosened—not permanently, not forever—just enough that the body could breathe without negotiating with itself.
