My mind so easily falls back into the familiarity of the stories I tell myself about me. The songs of my particular self...I'm the one who...these are my views and opinions...this is what my past means, this is who I am...All those stories - they're how I bring into focus who I think I am. They become the facade I present to the world, to myself, and I walk through my experience encased in its solid shell. The facade has its purpose, to hide from me all I fear I don't know or am not certain about, the many doubts and fears, the confusion I'm afraid to acknowledge, much less feel. And yet...I sense that beneath all the stories I tell myself, there are deeper feelings - the doubts and fears - so I cling to the facade more tenaciously, in direct proportion to how close those feelings are to the surface. The more insecure I sense I really am, the more I hold on to the stories I believe will keep me invincible.
It's the razor's edge, to sense something so frightening and want so desperately to deny it. But the tension between those two poles can only grow until finally something has to give. The story falls apart; the facade shatters. But waiting on the other side of that cataclysmic moment isn't the annihilation I feared. Instead, it's as if I come out of a cyclone and stand before an open gate in a quiet sunny field. I walk through, leaving behind all the limitations of the stories I tell myself, the facade I've worked so hard to construct and hold on to. I have no thought or idea. I'm a beating heart, breathing, without need or expectation, without judgment. There is nothing to fear, there never has been. I am more "myself," more the vibrating being I am than I've ever been. I'm completely, magnificently all right.
Tension, release - not tension, shatter. This is where the possibility of insight resides, in the stillness of surrender.
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