'My' Story

When younger I wondered why people didn't question life and lived almost on autopilot.

Life seemed to pass by on a typical cocktail of various paths. There was family upbringing, with various securities or tragedies, abuse, or challenges, abuses, experimentation with drugs, alcohol or whatever took one's fancy. However, it panned out. At best an introduction to life. Then there was the coming into adulthood. The schooling period and university and so on. Or alternatively the street life. The working life. Then one's own family life. And so on. The house, the cars, the kids stuff and schools. Hanging out for the once or twice in a year holidays. And so on it seems to go. And this was how the top 10% of humanity lived. The rest of the 90% lived in abject poverty doing whatever was necessary to live or become like the 10%. Mmm. To be still to this it's clear there's no lasting fulfilment whatsoever in any normal path that is offered by society's norm.

These days there's little anxiety or antagonism to this 'norm'. After all, I followed life's norm to many degree's and with a child a lovely wife and the university paper job as an architect LOL...There seemed to be little alternatives at the point in time when decisions are made. There is the conception that you'll eventually end up doing that which is really 'true'. Later sometime. While right now you 'live' delaying the inevitable.

For a long time I was naively critical of the 'non-thinking' and the following what the 'norm' offered, even though it seemed I did the same. Paradoxically wanting what I wasn't doing. And so of course there was for a long time much inner unease and conflict and a feeling of just living as a empty corpse. And just keeping busy doing enjoyable or stimulating stuff.

Now I can see that the complete gamit of 'thinking' and 'feeling' or better still all the opinions, the views, the likes, the dislikes keep us in the dark. The problem ain't out there; with what is 'society' or the wife, the job, of whatever is seen. It in here. Inside. A blind to our 'my' own self-created story. My Story. Ego. Identity. The 'me'. The 'you'. The 'us' and 'them'. Whatever the word of fancy.

There's comes a point where it's a little tiresome to keep recreating this story or even be too involved in others stories. When the entire story needs to be questioned. Every basis of it. And approached without any notion or idea. Just watched. Because the story feels empty. That's because it is. It's a creation of thoughts and pre-conceptions. A creation of mind.

Yet sometimes it reappears and so there is fragments of the story that linger. Like garlic. Remove it but the smell lingers. Perhaps in the ocasional lust for the beautiful wife and the enjoyment of cuddling her at night and cuddling the little one. Wherever there is any ambition or motivation. The occasional anger, the occasional 'self' interest and clinging. Can see the importance or seriousness of 'my' story is weakening and with it many of the emotional and mental distrubances, confusion, blame, want for justice and the acute sensitivity that once chronically plagued also have little roles to play. Like that saying 'a thief will not stay in an empty house.'

As this story dissolves there is a growing feeling of openness and freedom. Yet until the story is no more the smell garlic lingers.

It's like a wise teacher, a lama said. The eye that sees outwards but doesn't know itself but that eye is not who I am or am Not. It's free of all ideas and thoughts.