There’s a voice inside your head. It’s always talking. You hear it.
What you hear is a story. Not one, but many. And that, they’re always about “you”—whatever that may be.
(Me, me, me, me…)
You’re the hero, always. You’re always painted as a “good person”. Your actions, your intentions, good, moral.
Many of them are blatantly untrue; perhaps all of them are lies. But, it doesn’t matter. At least to the mind—it doesn’t matter.
Well, maybe you were the bad guy (here and there). That story is nothing but to redeem yourself—out of conditioning. You criticized yourself to be a “good person”. Or, to seem like one. (To whom though?)
You never seriously cared about doing “good”. That’s okay—we’re all pretending. That’s just fine—”good” is only made up.
Just be honest. To everyone, including yourself. And that’ll be enough.
Our lives are painted with stories. The mood, the vibe—all coloured in.
(Vibe is that feeling about memories. Mood, about the present. Kind of.)
The truth is that they’re all imaginary. The paintings are completely alterable. (Heck, they needn’t even exist!)
Any story can fit; the painting isn’t dependent on reality—the opposite, perhaps. Whatever theme, you want, can work. It’s all about seeming plausible to “you”…and you’re the easiest person to fool.
Your life might’ve had this theme: sadness. Not because of any event, though, since any event can be turned into good/bad.
No? Well, my life was.
(I was thinking about me. Like how you think about you. I’m projecting myself to other people—it’s how sympathy works.)
Lots of lies.
Lots of delusions.
I let the failures live…made up problems…to keep myself as the victim…the “good” guy”. I was attached to that story. I was immersed in that painting. For a decade.
I no longer am.
And now I have peace.