Here’s the thing I want to know, baby.
Do you believe you deserve to be miserable?
Do you believe happiness is for other people?
Do you believe that your life is not your own, that it belongs to others, and you just have to make due by barely getting by each day? By vegging out in front of the television? By drinking too much wine? By watching a lot of porn?
Do you, somewhere deep inside you, believe that “getting by” is what you came on earth for? That life is about suffering?
Because if you believe that, it’s how you’re going to live. You’re going to take actions, or remain in inaction, that aligns with that belief. And you’re going to create a spiral for yourself where you never break free.
So, so sad.
What a waste of a good life, to hand it over, to give it away, to never get the things that are your deepest yearning. Or worse, to never even ask what your deepest yearning is.
If you’re living like this, I feel bad for you. That’s called compassion.
And what’s even sadder?
You’re more interested in your resistance than the truth. You’re not even willing to do what works. You care more about your narrow conceptions, about your lofty ideas, about your rigid egoic structures, than you care about what will break you open and set you free and make you come alive. You don’t want to be happy because you believe that happiness does not actually exist.
In my own life, I had the great privilege of being beaten down a lot. Of having a lot of shit happen to me that made me sad, that made me despairing, that made me want to give up. Those times, despite the pain and suffering, were the best things that could have happened to me, because if I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t experience joy. I wouldn’t know what a good life felt like. I wouldn’t know I had been living entangled in whips and chains of my own making, and that there was another way. If everything had worked out for me, I’d likely just go through my life blind and numb, telling myself stories about what truth was, rather than living in it.
Living in it is so much better.
Living in truth means you don’t worry about what anyone thinks.
Living in truth means that in every human interaction, you are delightfully alive.
Living in truth means that you receive beauty, love, and abundance everywhere you go.
To some, this may sound egotistical. But it’s not. It’s just truth. And people who know it, know it. And people who don’t, have no idea what it’s like, and can’t recognize it when it walks in the door, because they’re hard-hearted, they’re narrow-thinkers, they sort of believe they and their point of view is the center of the world.
This is kind of why Jesus sounds like an asshole sometimes in the gospels. He just knows things, he just speaks truth and doesn’t mince words. His actions show his capacity for love. He heals, he makes people rise, he defends the accused and the oppressed. But when he speaks? He just tells shit like it is. And a lot of us don’t want to hear that kind of thing. We want a pretty story that makes us feel all cozy inside. Nothing’s wrong with feeling cozy, it’s just not going to help you wake up if you’re fast asleep. It’s going to keep you nodding off when you should be doing better, when you should be utilizing your time with some serious inner investigation.
So here’s what I want you to know, if you think the “God” thing is all bogus. If you’re angry, and you’ve turned away. If you’re doubting yourself, doubting what’s real, doubting whether truth actually exists or if everything is random.
God is not an asshole. Call God whatever the hell you want. It’s just three letters. Let’s call God Mom.
Mom isn’t serving you vegetables instead of cake because she hates you. Mom is serving you vegetables because she knows what’s good, and she knows what’s right, and she is doing what’s best for you because that is what Moms do. So you can fight her and throw tantrums all the time, and you can hide your vegetables in a napkin, or you can try to negotiate with her, or you can sit at the table with your arms crossed refusing to eat, but those vegetables aren’t going anywhere until you eat them. Because if those vegetables wilt and get cold, and she finally throws them in the compost pile (because she cares about the environment!), you’re going to have to sit down at that dinner table another night, and another, and she’s going to keep giving you those vegetables until you give in and eat them. And then, one day, when all your resistance is worn out, when you just don’t have any fight or life left in you, when you’re fucking hungry, you’re going to eat the damn vegetables and realize, Hey, I kind of like these, these are actually kind of good. And you’re going to see that after eating the vegetables, you feel better inside. You’re going to get healthier. And soon, the vegetables are the only things you want to eat. You say, Can I have some more? Like that character in the Charles Dickens book. And then Mom is so happy she got you on board, that she’s going to cook all kinds of delicious things for you to try, and now you’re in the zone, you’re loving it, you’re trying everything, you realize you were never really living before, and now you are sitting in front of a frickin’ deliciously nourishing buffet, and you’re eating all day and not gaining weight.
That’s what it feels like when you let Mom in, when you trust she knows what’s right. She’s so fucking grand.
I think this could be considered a parable. If you don’t like it, go away.