The stories we tell

Well, the visitors are here, the place was a mess (as I would have described it prior to investigating my thoughts), and they love it! I can see the house now as a warm, lived-in environment. The freedom of a child is the dream of many who were deprived of it and a fond memory of most who weren’t, and this house is a living monument to free children. This house can be heaven and I tried to make it hell. Actually, I was quite successful! It reminds me of a guy ranting one night at a San Francisco hostel: “You know the devil! While you have an ego, you know the devil.” It’s so true, and it possesses me with every stressful thought. Yes, the universe inside of me is at least as infinite as the one without. They are the same thing.

And under it all lies the eternal. The perfect, changeless eternal. My experience of the eternal I would describe as peace. I don’t often find it, but when I do it is constant in its changelessness. It overwhelms me, surrounds me, tickles me under my ribs and loves me. And then I leave it and reenter the story of J in its myriad forms and chapters. It is not the truth that is stranger than fiction, it is the story we tell of what’s true.

And I have to admit, I like a good story!