The endless search for the thing that will grant freedom. From circumstances, from events, from people, from feelings, from thoughts. Punctuated by waves of relief, when it looks like the thing has been found.
All the while overlooking the one fatal flaw in the plan: freedom is sought on behalf of one who doesn’t exist, never existed, never could exist.
In the recognition of this . . . well, actually, nothing. No relief. No fancy insight. No thing.
This is freedom. Not FROM anything, but BEFORE. Before the seeking. Before the idea of the self who needs to be freed.
Already, freedom itself. Unbounded. Unlimited. Unrestrained.