The world is changing before me. No, I am changing before the world.
Thinking back on my past posts, I see now that I can scrap all of it. All of it. All of my writing, all of this “therapy” for trauma, all of this “processing.” My whole life (and your whole life), I (and you) have been taught how to make stories about myself (yourself), about you, about what you’re thinking and how and why you are behaving as you are, about what I’m thinking and how and why I am behaving as I am. We are taught so well. Our stories have stories and most of all, we are taught all of them are true and trustworthy.
None of this is a solution. Oh wait, the whole problem is that I (and you) even think there *is* or needs to be a solution! Because the stories are the problem and the problems *are* the stories. I have been asking “why” for so long, wondering if “why?” is the wrong question. It was. Because maybe there is no question at all to be answered.
I have two (maybe three, depending on how you define it) degrees in understanding brains. All I came up with out of all of it is that we don’t understand them. We continue to find conflicting evidence for our stories about them. I’ve taken that to mean that it is because our brains are so complex, so malleable, that they will always be one step ahead – that the thing we use to understand our “reality” will continue to elude us forever (and maybe that is true).
Is that not amazing? It’s like creating an AI that is smarter than its creator. And yet, it is exactly our large brains – as powerful and amazing as they are and with so much potential – that are the limiting factor for our contentedness, our presence in the world. Our brains make the stories and have the ability to make them complicated, project our own past onto them, and even relate enough to people to believe the stories we have about *them* are true too. Our brains prevent us from seeing these as *stories* and letting them go. Our brains want so strongly for us to attach to things with this illusion of protection, safety, and truth.
Friends, to some degree or another, it seems we have been manipulated and infiltrated by the alien within us that keeps us alive: our brains.
But maybe…maybe they don’t have to be. Maybe if we can make a space after the sensations in our bodies/the emotions that come up and before we make up a story to “explain”… the stories never have to exist in the first place. If they don’t exist in the first place, then they will not take hold on us. We will swiftly, joyfully, and painlessly forget what caused that sensation at all. There is no story to bind us to the that perceived reality. There is just…a passing physical sensation and state. It will come and it will go and when it leaves, nothing remains.