The Past Crumbles

        I had a whole other article written for this week. I was revisiting the idea that you need to face your stories of trauma to get past them. I used an example from a writer I’ve mentioned before and then went into what was going on with me at that time. I seemed to be facing memories from when Liz was seven. I had a whole story of the effect those experiences had on the former life. It all made sense, seemed to explain a great deal. It was emotional, sad, and I spent hours speaking with Hannah about it, I didn’t get much sleep…

And twenty-four hours later, it all collapsed in the awareness that none of that happened, I only thought it did. This did not apply to just the story that had occupied my mind for a day. That whole life, that whole experience of existence, did not occur.

I wrote before about how time collapses into now for me. The past is only an idea in my mind now. It has no reality, it cannot hold up, these bouts back into delusion notwithstanding. It seems I see for a bit the story I’d be living in if that life had not come to an end. Each time, it is less consuming, though I go through the motions of the psychology and emotions. This time, the memories lacked the spark of life. But the memories are not the point anyway. The delusion is the personal identity they are about.

These episodes seem to have a pattern. I think I know the signs now when delusion is returning. And they seem to be part of the ego thought system coming apart. It is not as simple as seeing things differently, or in merely a “nicer” way. It looks and feels like a whole apparatus is coming down, a structure that involves much more than a change in interpretation. In fact, the old way of seeing crumbles often now without the old delusion manifesting as a personal story. I’m watching a world, a reality, come apart.

What is left? What has always been here. I can call It my Self or Love. Sometimes, simply Spaciousness. That’s here, no matter what else is appearing.

 >>>> 

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Comments

Unknown said…
Seems startling to consider, beyond the theoretical arena, that the past and its memories of it simply aren't.
Perfect - Thanks Liz

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