There is one thing I know to be true.
One. Very. Important. Thing.
I might have grown differently had I known it sooner.
We Are Not Our Story
How could we be? Our story is a product of Thought, which, by its very nature, is transient, free-flowing, shape-shifting. We cannot be a permanently inked tale when our personal narrative is always in flux, an unfolding fiction from moment to moment.
So, if we are not our story, what are we?
We are masters at creating our reality.
We are the authors of our story. We are the hero(ine), villain, and all other characters therein. We are editor, publisher and critic. We are meaning makers, sharing slithers of our soul in a bid to be heard in this world. To be held, by another, in an aural embrace.
Stories are human currency. They are how we make sense of this world. But they are not who we are.
Those whispered words from within that colour us every which way – boosting us up, knocking us down – are not who we are. We are beyond words. The truth of us is formless, only ever to be found in a feeling.
The truth of us could never be contained within a story, yet, it is through sharing our stories of human frailty that we may wake each other up to that which rests quietly constant within us. That connection we have to something greater than ourselves. The wonder and the oneness of us all.
We are spirit, wrapped in flesh and bone, made of love and understanding. This is an unbelievable story we can believe in because, deep down, in our heart of hearts, we know it to be true.
Your thoughts are like the artist’s brush.
They create a personal picture of the reality you live in
Sydney Banks, The Missing Link (page 56)
Thanks to Jeff Goins for the inspiration.