I have known for along time that I am not my thoughts, that my reality is created by my thoughts but I'm seeing more and more that thought is an unreliable narrator of a story that was never true. I used to tell people that my mother hit me with a knife. Sounds really bad right but had you been there in our kitchen in 1972 you would have seen that it was a plastic spatula, the floppy kind you scrape the mixing bowl out with when making a cake. But to my suffering small child mind that was sooo wrapped up in trying to understand a very confusing world, it felt like a knife and so I had to use words that would convey to you the injustice of the 'assault'. Fast forward a few decades and I now understand that the stories that I tell you and more importantly that I believe myself are all unreliable. This could sound scary but I find it comforting to know that I can always drop into a quiet mind, observe those thoughts and be held by the truth that the Infinite has all the resources I need and there is no need to believe everything I think. With love, Chana.
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