The Bus Stops Here

Settling in for bed, I think about my day, see how I'm doing, check on the condition of my condition.  I think about how the day weaves into my larger creation structures--about grad school, who's going to accept me, what if no one wants me, how did today add to the pot, am I moving closer to my destination, is my will rightly aligned--those sorts of things.  I'm contemplative, and the sound of a bus enters my awareness.  I hear the bus pull up at the bottom of my drive, by the student apartment complex down the hill.  I think, "Gee, I sure am glad that I'm not getting on (or off, for that matter) a bus at 9:23 pm!"  I realized I was glad because some part of me was harboring the fear that:

I have to ride buses at night but all I want is to be home and cozy and not out doing crazy ass shit in the middle of the night like I used to even if there was once upon a time I did like riding buses at night and maybe I should like it still because I used to like it once but now I don't want to and...Oh!

Wait!

I don't HAVE to ride buses at night!

No one can make me and I can choose to create situations in which it becomes less likely that I would need to ride a bus at night (because I certainly would if that were right choosing in that moment.  It's a preference that I not ride night buses, not an insistence).
Realizing my bus-riding empowerment made me feel good, so I broadened my consciousness to see if I could find the larger pattern that was resonating, evinced by the feeling of balance and goodness that was generated by my thought patterns.  When I feel lightened by a creation, it;s generally the "right" thing for me to be engaged with.  To increase the occurrences of right-resonance, I look for a big-picture approach so that I might create more things that resonate in a similar fashion.  I've noticed it's the patterns that are important, more than the specific surface-level details or symptoms of the pattern itself.

South Park again: it's the part of the program where one of the kids says "I think we've all learned something important here today..."

My version:
Part of my anxiety about my future is the nebulous, lurking (and previously unnamed) fear that someone or something is going to forcibly drag me back into my past, with its habits, ruts and pain.  But I'm the only travel agent that can authorize that trip.  Nothing, no-one--other than me--can drag me back into my past.  it's a part of me; my biology is my biography, and every decision I've ever made, as well as its consequences, are lodged firmly in my skinsuit.  I repeat patterns when the lesson is incomplete; by paying attention, I clear the ripples of a pattern, learn, evolve, and move forward.

I never move backwards; I can't.  None of us can.  I can be afraid of going backwards, but it just can't happen, and that's one less tool my saboteur has to use against me.  I return to present moment, more aware of my fear and how it might try and stop me from dreaming, moving, creating.

I am liberated.  I can get off that bus.  Should I decide to take a night ride, I know where the bus stop is.