I spent most of last night awake. There was nothing particular bothering me, and everything was bothering me. The smallest thought turned into stories of amazing detail as my mind did its thing. Resistance was futile. I have discovered over time that the mind is like a petulant child... if you try to ignore it, it just gets louder and more disturbing. So I listened to its stories with great patience and acceptance. And I led my mind through inquiry as I would one of my own coaching clients. Each story was gently opened to question. And as the hours wore on, they became simpler. At one point, the simplicity became silence. And peace.
It amazes me how unwilling we usually are to question our own stories, to return to this simplicity and peace. Yes, I could have laid awake and listened to my own stories most of the night and eventually worn myself out so I could sleep... but not in peace. The simple willingness to put my time and awareness into questioning is what led directly to silence. Because ultimately, none of our stories is true.
Our world is made up of layer upon layer of stories about who did what to whom, or how I did that to them, or how I didn't do it or they didn't do it or she should have done it... on and on and on... and lots of what if stories, like what if that happens? Or what if they don't do that? What if I don't do that? Or worse, what if I do? Ironically, I have given each of these dramas all the meaning they have. Who knows what anyone else thinks or knows? I am the keeper of my stories. And I have the ability to question them, and to find the blessed silence of reality always waiting.
By reality, I mean our organic Self, the part of us that always Knows, without effort; the Self that doesn't need stories or effort to simply be. Your organic Self awaits you in the simplicity and silence. You have only to question your own stories.
It amazes me how unwilling we usually are to question our own stories, to return to this simplicity and peace. Yes, I could have laid awake and listened to my own stories most of the night and eventually worn myself out so I could sleep... but not in peace. The simple willingness to put my time and awareness into questioning is what led directly to silence. Because ultimately, none of our stories is true.
Our world is made up of layer upon layer of stories about who did what to whom, or how I did that to them, or how I didn't do it or they didn't do it or she should have done it... on and on and on... and lots of what if stories, like what if that happens? Or what if they don't do that? What if I don't do that? Or worse, what if I do? Ironically, I have given each of these dramas all the meaning they have. Who knows what anyone else thinks or knows? I am the keeper of my stories. And I have the ability to question them, and to find the blessed silence of reality always waiting.
By reality, I mean our organic Self, the part of us that always Knows, without effort; the Self that doesn't need stories or effort to simply be. Your organic Self awaits you in the simplicity and silence. You have only to question your own stories.
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