Five Vulnerable Things Vol. 38

On storms, an uninvited fly, and rejection as bodyguard

Monsoon Season is a newsletter and podcast for self-mastery by meditation teacher and writer, Asa Yee. It lives at the intersection of culture, consciousness, and creativity. It is about the messy, beautiful, non-linear work of becoming, the courage to be seen, and the belief that the most spiritual thing any of us can do is be vulnerable.

Hi soul friends!

Tonight (I’m writing this Wednesday) I’m headed out to Savannah, Georgia with the family to take an epic voyage to see The Odyssey. A mini road trip just to see the film on the tallest IMAX in the US, just the way Nolan intended. I get so excited, cinema releases are my World Cup. I cannot wait to sit in a human freezer, in the dark with strangers watching art that was created by a collective of other strange human beings. It’s my safe space. As a teenager, I’d go to the movies by myself, and never once felt alone. I’d spend all day going from one screening to the next, filling myself up like a diabetic eating too many donuts. I’ll report back soon with field notes.

I’ll be OOO until Sunday, so I’ll be slow to respond, but I'll lovingly butter my popcorn more, just for you.

Now, five vulnerable things.

1. The storm is storming

One of the most influential books I’ve read in my lifetime is The Count of Monte Cristo. It was my dad’s favorite growing up, so I don’t really know if I had any free will in the matter of falling for it myself. The film adaption from 2002 with Jim Caviezel and Guy Pearce is iconic, and a film I rewatch every single year without fail. The quote that I can’t stop thinking about this week is when Edmond says to a young Henry Cavill:

“Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you.”

―Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

This week has humbly reminded me, time and time again, that I am always in a part of the storm, whether I am conscious of it or not. Sometimes I’m in the eye of the storm, the calmest part, like last week riding a high and feeling a moment of creative expansion. And sometimes, like the past two days, it’s exhaustion: twelve hours editing something because everything kept going wrong, small mistakes from lack of sleep, waking in the middle of the night to babysit my dog who’s convinced the lightning storms are ghosts.

Sometimes I struggle teaching others how to dance in their storms, their monsoons, while I’m hanging on for dear life somewhere in my own. But then I remember: the practice was never to count the “good” days and the “bad” ones. It’s to stop keeping count at all.

2. The fly

I recently had an uninvited guest slip in through the balcony door as my dog was sunbathing midafternoon. A tiny unassuming fly. I for the life of me could not get this fly out of the apartment. Every few minutes, like clockwork, it would buzz past my face while I was working, watching TV, or stuffing my face with something delicious.

Five days passed, and the fly had taken permanent residence, applying for a visa. I noticed my agitation increase by the day, but one morning, after a meditation sit, it hit me that the fly hadn’t changed.

I was changing. My relationship to it was getting more volatile, more impatient.

I also wondered how annoyed this fly must be at me, swatting at it while it was just minding its business, flying around. To the fly, I was the fly. It was only trying to get me to leave it alone.

In Buddhism this is called Emptiness. The world holds many realities at once, one where I am the villain, and one where the fly is the villain, both true, and dissolving that illusion is what brings peace in. As soon as this quiet reflection landed, my anger subsided and I could just go about my day, co-existing. Eventually, while doing a load of dishes, I gently caught it in a saucier and a lid, and took it outside to release it. The first attempt, it pulled a David Blaine. The second, the fly was finally free. Would I invite him over again, probably not, but I sure hope he leaves a good Airbnb review.

3. Declare what you really desire

I recently saw a post by The Hood Healer where she shared the power of declaring what you truly desire. It made me think, why is it so easy to declare foreign items to a airport customs officer, but declaring what you want for yourself feels so damn taboo?

Speak your desires with reverence. Call your future by its name.

Let the people who truly love you practice seeing you in your highest timeline. Let them imagine you thriving. Let them celebrate you. Let them become participants in your becoming. Sometimes the miracle isn’t just your manifestation coming to fruition, it’s the community that learns what’s possible because you had the courage to dream out loud. And that’s collective healing.

— The Hood Healer

Declaring what you really desire is powerful momentum. The collective energy, the invisible and visible forces, are listening. I recently declared to a friend over the phone that I want to make a living creating/producing my podcast, MONSOON SEASON, writing what I want on Substack, and teaching meditation to as many people on this earth as possible. I also want to host experiential retreats around the globe so I can teach, connect, and hug each and every one of you in person. And I am declaring that I will become a mother soon, biological or adopted. The more I follow my dreams, the more they keep leading me to motherhood, and I can’t wait to raise a child under the shade of my love and protection.

Now, your turn. Declare what you want.

4. Create FROM freedom, not FOR freedom.

Last week I was creating FROM freedom. Things felt kinetic, light, full, electric, no grip. This week I was creating FOR freedom, and boy was I feeling it. There's not much else to say about this, but maybe stop for a moment, audit your inner world, and check in to see where you're moving from. Can you make a micro adjustment to tether yourself back to the freedom that already lives inside you?

For me that moment is shoving my forehead against my dog's forehead. Touching foreheads with someone you love is more intimate than an orgy. Don’t quote me on that. It's the fastest way I know to teleport myself from fear, back to unconditional love: the very source of freedom in my book.

5. Rejection is the spiritual secret service.

Its job isn’t to punish you. It’s to protect the future you’re not ready to see. Every “no” escorts you away from a life that isn’t yours, and quietly guards the one that is.

I know we’ve heard the saying that rejection is projection, but what if we personified it even further. I started thinking about rejection as the secret service, working for you 24/7, bodyguards on duty willing to take a bullet for your ungrateful ass every single time. Imagine these forces absorbing the rejection for you, so you can keep inching toward the things that are actually meant for you.

I recently went to the chiropractor, and while getting adjusted, hearing sounds that made me scream obscene words at my doctor, I realized this. Maybe it was finally getting a little relief in my neck, or blood finally flowing to my brain without all the knots in the way, but I truly believe that in hindsight, every single time someone broke my heart, a job said no, the three times I got laid off, the rejection I’ve felt from my own father, it all led me to this life. A life that is a storm, but still a life worth living. As someone who once struggled with finding the will to be here, I forget how protected I really am. So many of us don’t make it. We let the darkness swallow us, become us, until we disappear. But the lucky ones, we get to keep facing the storms.

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About Me

I’m Asa. I am a Bangladeshi-American meditation teacher, writer, and podcast host.

I believe vulnerability is the most powerful thing we have. Not as a tactic, but as the actual portal to building a life and a business that feels like yours. The more honest we are about who we are and what we struggle with, the more we give other people permission to do the same. That is the whole philosophy behind everything I create.

Born and raised in New York. Living in Charleston. I am a cinephile, a mango connoisseur, and a chai addict. So glad you are here — make yourself at home. 🤎

Stay soft,

🥭 Asa

Until next time, honey!

Catch the latest episode of Monsoon Season Podcast ↓

How She Built a Full-Time Creative Business on Substack, After Rebuilding Her Life