Freeing Ourselves From Our Stories

The past is a story.

The future is a story.

Why we’re here on this planet is a story.

Every thought that comes into our heads is a story.

Everything that we do is governed by story.

Every conversation we have is a story.

Our relationships are built on stories.

Our self-worth is built on stories.

Our entire life is a story.

What if the reason we suffer is because we’re believe these stories?

I have this gut-level sense that my attachment to stories have something to do with why my life feels so heavy all the god-damn time.

The only thing that isn’t a story is the Absolute Truth. It’s the true nature of reality.

Whoah, hefty metaphysical ground, I know.

But all I mean is that whatever is really real is what’s right in front of you.

The warmth in your chest when you make someone smile.

The sounds of the music in your room.

The wall in front of you.

The pressure of your butt in the chair.

The vibration feeling when your foot falls asleep.

The tears rolling down your face.

The beauty of the art hanging on your wall.

The smell of fresh trees.

These are the real. These are the truth. These are what matters.

Not all the stories you mistake as yourself.

Meaning isn’t found in the stories, but what’s right in front of you.

If you think too much you might miss it.