Friday, December 16, 2016

On self-illusion

     What we believe about ourselves is almost never what we actually are and, unfortunately, we find ourselves as duplicates of the opinions of those around or as refractions of the society through broken prism. We define ourselves by frivolous layers of our soul’s epidermis, by broken words, by small dreams, minimizing everything we could, in fact, truly become. Reflections of the outer world on our inner self are the venom getting to infect our entire being, and the inability to relinquish them appears as a fatality. 


     Everything is like a jungle: the struggle for survival, the strong versus the weak, the lianas among which our thoughts get stuck and we hang upside down, the frightened cries of abandoned beliefs.But what is beyond the jungle? What is beyond each fallen Bastille of the spirit

     It is the place where illusions fall apart and finally, they self-destruct as you move forward, it is where the self is waiting. Waiting for you. It is the place where ideals reborn from their own pain, rising as flags after wars, proofs of the triumph of truth, evidence for the conquest of a tiny part of the godhead.

     Next time you will look in the mirror, you will not see only skin stretching on the chest, the hands, the face, you will see the energy’s pulsation beyond it and your sensorial journey will be long over. Despite the vague trace of confusion (apparently) dangerously hovering over the created microcosm, the metamorphosis is irreversible and the outside world will change its outlines.

     Search fearlessly in the depths of the mind and in what appear to be epilogues of the soul: you will find there, in the corner, calm and patient, the Truth. About you? You shall see.

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Maira Gall