We look at ourselves and the other through the lens of our story.
We cling to the story of our inner world.
We seek out the story of the outer world.
We project stories on nature.
We tell children stories to help them sleep.
In sleep, we make a story.
Upon waking, we wear the garment of our story.
The story prevents the mind from looking at what is real.
The addiction to lullabies and the aversion to nightmares keep us entangled in the dream.
Stories come and go.
Is Life a story ?
What is a mind without its story ?
Empty ?
Are we afraid of this emptiness ?
Are we afraid of this infinite stillness in the mind ?
What is there to discover in this silence ?
At the threshold of the collapse of the story, what is already here ?
What I Truly Am.
A Love unveiled, flows endlessly through my being into the other.
This Love has no need for dreaming.
It is Life Itself !