My Life < 1 > My Story

by Christopher Lovejoy on June 7, 2020

I am every thing, every being, every emotion, every event, every situation;
I am unity. I am infinity. I am love/light, light/love. I am. This is the Law.

They say that infinity is akin to unity, but if this is so, how could harmony ever arise in the absence of change? If peace is changeless, when and where could bliss ever be found and followed? Consider this: is enchantment even possible in the face of contentment without end?

With change, of course, comes risk, and with change, comes the risk of lack or loss, however this is thought to manifest. What is a collective of minds to do in the face of a constant risk of lack or loss in a world where change is the only constant? That’s easy: they tell stories.

What kind of stories? Stories that reassure “everything’s gonna be okay;” stories with endings that reinforce “all’s well that ends well;” stories that remind us again and again “it’s not all peaches and cream.” All such stories bring coherence and consistency in the midst of constant change.

What about your story? Is it bringing you coherence and consistency in the midst of constant change? And if not, why not? Are you liking and loving who you are in your story? Are you living and loving the story of your life? If not, why not? Why not create your own narrative?

Let us suppose that your narrative communicates a message about who you are in midst of change with all of its associated risks. Which particulars would you convey in the course of living your life? Which particulars would you attract in the course of loving your life?

In view of risk, in the midst of constant change, where is your emphasis?

Is it a process of inquiry with contentment and discernment? If so, what do you hope to attain? Knowledge? Wisdom? Perspective? Or is it a process of discovery through attachment and enchantment? If so, what more do you need? What more do you want? Or does it have to be even better than it is? If so, what do you hope to improve? Can you allow seeming imperfection to be as it is?

Are you a soul with a spirit or are you a spirit with a soul? Are you more inclined to be religiously motivated by sacred intent or are you more inclined to be spiritually inspired by divine intent? In your sovereign “I know best” presence, are you account-able or response-able?

Do you aim for coherence or do you aim for consistency?

Wherein lies your connection to the unity of infinity?

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I have heard it said that a life lived is simply a life lived forward and that a story told is simply a story told backward, but what if a story, your story, could be lived and loved forward even as you live and love the story forward? What would this even look like, sound like, feel like?

If purpose unifies destiny, would it be necessary to structure its behavior? If a purpose in life unifies a life with a destiny, would it be even be necessary to structure the behavior of its story? In view of infinity, in light of the unity of infinity, could such a story evolve without end?

Could such a story not be a perpetually exploratory, participatory, revelatory adventure, which includes elements of drama, comedy, tragedy, mystery, and fantasy? Could such a story not evolve as a neverending series of perfect moments mingled with moments of no return?

Could we not affirm as follows: I remain open and receptive to the mysterious unknown, even as I move from familiar to unfamiliar, from one novel encounter to the next, with no structure in time, toward a sense of completion that culminates in a Life Review beyond the grave?

But then, we might eventually be given pause: Can my story evolve without relevance? Can my story evolve without significance? Can my story evolve without consequence? Who would I be without my story? And why would I ever insist on being (or having) a hero in my story?

I know that everyone and everything in my story is a lot more complicated than I think and that I only ever see a tiny portion of what is actually true, and so, what is essential to living and loving the story of my life? And what is essential to loving and liking who I am in my story?

As I follow my bliss, perfect moment to perfect moment, am I not finding myself on a path that has been there all along? Furthermore, could the story that I think and feel I ought to be living and loving not be the very same story that I am living here and now without reservation?

How could the story of my life possibly appear as a series of perfect moments without end if such moments continue to define points in time that mark definite resolutions in my story? No unity for me; only the apparent play of unity. No harmony for me; only the apparent play of harmony.

Beyond the me, myself, and I, is there not a grander story to be told by a cosmic intelligence far greater than our own or is the story of this intelligence a collective composite of our own subjective stories? If the latter, what stories of our own shall we contribute to the whole?

If the former, why not just be a witness and let it all play out until the end of time?

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