In this heatwave today, with thirty degrees in the shade, where brains are melting even faster than the ice cream, I should really be keeping this post light and breezy and nothing more. But there was this thing about the joy of truth in the previous post that somehow left a lot unsaid. How can the truth be a joy... and why is saying the truth never a joy but really hard. And why is hearing the truth hardly a joy and painful most of the time. Likely because that isn’t the truth. Likely because hearing the truth isn’t the same as realising the truth, because what we hear is simply someone’s own view, opinion, imagination... which then causes us to think things and further imagine things which aren’t true either.
Can someone’s opinion be the truth, can the truth ever come from some external event or situation, I wonder. What if the truth about who we are or what we are, or anything else that concerns our life here, that concerns life here, was only ever something deep within us, something that can only ever come from a place within us. What if getting to that place — where it isn’t our imagination, and it isn’t our mind recycling all the things we’ve ever read and heard and been conditioned by — was the real thing. And the very same place where happiness resides
So wishing you happy exploring. And a cool lemonade in the shade