These last few days have been particularly enlightening.
Peaceful beyond compare.
Why?
I haven’t cared about story as much as I’ve cared for my body.
Every single cell that cares for me every single second of every day.
I care more about my cells than I care about you. Forgive me.
I forgive you if you care in the same way.
Why?
Quite simple actually. If you aren’t alive—there is no more you. You are effectively gone—returned to the infinite source of creation, and that’s great. But as far as your identity goes—kaput. Adios. Happy trails.
So I care about preserving this one-shot-deal.
That means—if I care more about the past and the future, through story, I don’t care about this life that’s happening in the now.
That means I die unhappy.
Every day. Dying over and over again, unhappy as can-be. For the sake of what? For an ego that wants to control everything that happens to be going on within that story.
What if the story sucks?
What if the story doesn’t matter to you?
What if the story only makes yo…