Do you exist apart from the stories you believe about yourself?
I found I cannot claim existence apart from the beliefs I buy into. I found that just as the thinker is the thought, the believer is the belief.
The evidence for solid, separate existence is compelling – and true, relatively-speaking. It’s just that we forget we aren’t separate from our beliefs; we believe we ‘own them.’ But the owner-thing turns out to be … another belief!
Unless we’ve acknowledged and questioned our beliefs – including the ‘real me’ one – we tend to think they are non-negotiable and rock-solid. However, we cannot unstitch a belief without simultaneously disappearing the believer.
Perhaps that’s why it’s such a touchy business to enter into dialogue or self-inquiry about our non-negotiable beliefs and assumptions. Yet on the other side of the terror of self-extinction lies the peace that we seek – the peace that passeth all understanding.
There’s a sense of the galaxy of the known receding. Yet I cannot say ‘behind’ me, for there’s no sense of forward movement; no pulling away or avoidance.
It’s more like gravity has lost its force and one floats in infinite space, directionless and positionless.
It’s like one is that space.
Then a call comes to communicate and one turns into some-thing that speaks, chews the old cud, spins the old stories, dances delightedly in the old dream…
And one never leaves that spaciousness for an instant.
Falling asleep again seems to be common enough in the early stages of the mindshift. But the fact that the dreamer eventually – via the presence of weird discomfort – remembers awake-ness, is evidence that apperception of the Truth has occurred. The energy pattern called brain has changed irrevocably.
The tracks of the past are deep ruts; the partner (if there’s one), the old friends, are still identified with their stories, and they still feature in the daily life of the one-who-remembers. Their stories of feelings, needs, desires, meanings, are revisited on cue. There’s potential distraction in this, for sure.
But if I think I don’t want to be caught in this soporific trap; if I chastise myself for having fallen for it all, again; if I feel I want to be rid of everything that triggers somnolence … I stop and reach for my precious little sanity-saving question:
ummmm . . . who owns that thought?
and maybe another ummmm . . . who owns that thought?
ahhhhhh . . . no one can be found!
How sweet it is, to be just what-is!
To be in a position where you can do what you truly love, when you wish, and how;
where you can be the being you intuit yourself to be, and long to express;
where clarity and contentment are unwavering states of mind
– isn’t this the core longing of every human being?
Isn’t this what most people would call freedom?
Yet who will pay the price? The utter, total relinquishment of everything they think about themselves and their life – all those precious stories, all those achievements and injustices, all those dreams of a glorious future …
She-who-scribbles wouldn’t, couldn’t. She was heavily invested in her self-construct. But the longing was so intense that Life took the matter into ITs own hands and set up a scenario that by-passed gentle relinquishment. IT simply put her in circumstances where everything was wiped out without her having any choice in the matter.
What unspeakable Grace!