So I made this story. Well not by myself. I had help. Much of it chosen, pre fab and tested for street cred. I have tweaked and chiseled this story for 47 years. I’ve worn it in too. It fits me like a glove. The stickers on the back of my car show the others who I am.
I’ve put a lot of work into it. The entire package, from fashion choice to a salad bar of opinions and beliefs, show everyone how well I’ve coped with existing in the unconscious world, which is situated somewhere between a rock and a hard place. I am the swiss army knife of answers to life’s questions.
How could anyone not like this wonderful creation? Hard to believe, I know, but it happens. Mostly I try to ignore the ones that have made a shitty job of their own story. But sometimes they end up as co-workers or my father in law. Then i have to stop ignoring them and raise the defcon a notch or two.
Then the games begin. Some civilized like, “conceptual chess”. Some not as civilized like, “You said that she said”. And everyone’s favorite, “ Is this just a game to you?”.
Sure, the answer is to leave all this behind and just “be”. Disconnect from the ego and the little story of me and be present, conscious, aware, in the now.
So you no longer associate your self with the story. But that story took a lot of time and effort to make and although it’s not perfect and it’s not actually real, it’s still pretty cool. And now everyone else is still playing the games, only now they’re playing, “Hey he’s left his sandcastle unattended, let’s flatten it.” Although I’m no longer playing, how can I watch them trample all over my lovely creation?
No comments:
Post a Comment