The Weight of What You Push

You ever notice how things only seem solid when you push against them? That’s not just physics—it’s the whole story of being. Everything you think you’re experiencing comes down to a kind of pressure: how hard you’re pushing on reality, and how hard it seems to push back.

Imagine standing in a strong wind. You can feel it only because your body resists it. Lean into it and it grows louder, heavier, more real. Relax and it disappears. That’s the dance we’re all doing, constantly. Every thought, every argument, every opinion is just you leaning into some invisible current. You meet the world head-on, and the collision becomes your “experience.” But the world isn’t fighting you. It’s your own resistance that creates the sensation of a world at all.

Look around. Whatever feels most real to you right now—your past, your pain, your relationships, your fears—all of it gains its weight from one thing: resistance. The more you resist something, the more substance it seems to have. Push hard enough and you’ll swear it’s immovable. That’s why resentment feels eternal, why anxiety feels like iron, and why love turns painful when you cling too tight. You keep giving it power by pushing. Stop pressing, and the shape changes. Sometimes it disappears.

Resistance isn’t free. It burns energy like nothing else. Every time you fight what’s happening—a thought, a person, a memory—you’re using up life-force just to keep the illusion of separation alive. Drop a stone into a river; the water gives way, trembles, then returns to calm. But throw that same stone at a wall and you’ll get a loud crack, a wound, and a long echo. Same force, different response. You can live like water or like the wall—but only one of them rests when it’s over.

This is the part that sounds like heresy: if you stopped resisting completely, the whole thing might vanish. No tension, no form. No form, no “you.” What if that’s how consciousness keeps itself entertained—by pressing against itself, pretending there’s another side? Maybe the universe is nothing but awareness learning how to feel itself through friction. Try to think of something you don’t resist and you’ll come up empty. The things you don’t fight fade so quickly you don’t even remember them. Resistance keeps the movie running. Let go, and the reel slips out of the projector.

Try it as an experiment. For a day, or an hour if that’s all you can manage—refuse to resist anything. Let people talk. Let traffic move. Let your body ache or relax. Let the sky do whatever it does. Don’t agree, don’t fix, don’t improve. Just stop pushing. You’ll start to notice the edges softening, the lines between “you” and everything else loosening. Things don’t vanish; they just stop needing your attention to stay alive. You realize how much of your world was built on tension—and how quiet it gets when the pressure drops.

I’m not saying that’s enlightenment. It’s just a little window into how the dream holds itself together. No resistance, no story. And if you ever want to know what’s beyond story — it’s what’s been here the whole time. just you forgot to notice it.