Imaginary burdens

   

Imaginary burdens.

The mind imagines many burdens.

Life is not a burden.

Death is not a burden.

~

Gratitude for image: http://www.seakayakalaska.com/

Everything breathes

Everything breathes. I watch the trees breathing in the cool morning air and I feel the lungs in this body breathe as these words are written. The rocks breathe, the clouds breathe, the coffee mug in my hand breathes. Everything breathes, everything has being. Life lives, uncategorized.








~
Gratitude for photo: http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://supernaturalbotanicals.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/cup-150x150.jpg&imgrefurl=http://supernaturalbotanicals.com/blog/&usg=__6rIv0ifkyi5NoJCt8mZ6yUszzFk=&h=150&w=150&sz=5&hl=en&start=0&sig2=JlY0GHfBjuEN6obZc0LaHQ&zoom=1&tbnid=if-DIAUfsE--jM:&tbnh=120&tbnw=120&ei=d2vQTaD5Aqrj0QH9q_3yDQ&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dcoffee%2Bcup%2Bbreathing%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1366%26bih%3D635%26tbm%3Disch0%2C355&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=174&vpy=193&dur=2809&hovh=120&hovw=120&tx=93&ty=80&page=1&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:7,s:0&biw=1366&bih=635

Hidden Addictions

I was having an argument with my husband today that we'd already had a thousand times before. The same argument. I just couldn't stop spinning out all the reasons I was right, couldn't stop trying to convince him of the validity of my point of view.

Then it hit me: I am addicted to being unloved. Or, more accurately, I am addicted to the story of being unloved. I am addicted to the story of being separate. I am addicted to being right. The addiction to being right is also the addiction to the peculiar satisfaction of being wronged. I am addicted to the story-of-me...drunk on it (without a drop of alcohol).

Way back when I got this notion of being unwanted. The story of lack, the story of not being enough, had been bought into long before I got married.

Now the template is there. My husband has to somehow fit into the story of "Colleen is unloved. Colleen is a unfairly treated."

The deck is stacked and without even realizing it, I am bound and determined for him to play his role of proving the continuing saga of "Colleen the Unloved."

Wow- what a strange addiction. The addiction to suffering. How could I have been so blind to this drama playing itself out again and again in my life with a changing cast of characters? How could I have been so hoodwinked?

And separation seemed so obvious, but is it? Sun, space, air, tree are all separate words; but are they separate things? The sun is in the tree. The air is in the space. Nothing is separate. Separation is a word-created, mind-created mirage. Everything is connected to everything. There is one thing (no-thing) and we are all it appearing with infinite variety.

Seeing my addiction to suffering, my addiction to being separate and unloved, acts as a lever lifting me out of the story.

With enormous joy, the mind in this instant is empty.

I apologized to Greg for type-casting him in the crazy drama of my stories. He accepted my apology and forgave me. The eye contact between us was as clear as the sky. Greg and Jack are warming up for Jack's baseball practice this afternoon, and I'm settling in to enjoy a bit of doing nothing. Sending all love to my friends known and unknown through this medium of cyberspace.

"Touch that in you which does not need to be satisfied by the world of form."  Eckhart Tolle

Realizing our shared divine nature, that which underlies all experience, is what we're here for.

There is one argument: insufficient love. There is one resolution: recognition of the reality of abundance underlying all the stories of lack.
~