we find ourselves in these stories.
everyone of us is living inside a story.
we did not write these stories.
we were born into them. they have been
written through countless ages, composed
of individual lives, ideas, dreams, wars, songs.
we find ourselves in stories that are bigger than us,
stories that are larger than life.
literally, we find ourselves in these stories.
//
because these stories are so vast and ancient
we often mistake them for reality.
their man-made nature is invisible.
unless you look very very closely,
you will miss the human fingerprints all over our
grand narratives and you will be fooled into believing
that it is god or nature who created all the volumes of meaning
that fill our formless voids.
this would be a mistake.
//
when we mistake our stories for reality we
surrender to them our agency and our identity.
if the story is fucked up we just live with it
because we think it is the only option.
because we think it is real.
the story is not real.
what is real is shrouded in mystery,
receding into the void.
//
real is the waters over which god hovers.
real is always beyond our grasp.
we cannot access reality unmediated by human narratives.
it is time we being asking questions about the stories in which
we find ourselves.
ask and you will receive the revelation that
the story is no more divine than you are.
the story is being written by humans just like us.
we get to choose what comes next.