As a child, it is firmly ingrained, how wrong it is to lie to others. We are told repeatedly the importance of being honest and that we should always tell the truth.

What about when I lie to myself?

When I refuse the truth. When lying to myself keeps everybody else happy, or at least at bay. Story 1, I must sacrifice my life and purpose for the sake of others. My badge of self-importance – damn, that thing is heavy.

What happens when I lie myself into a life that is unrecognizable?

Story 2, I had the best of intentions. I meant well.

What is that old saying about intentions…

I meant well. But I knew better. My body shared in every decision I have made. My body, through Sensation, gave me her           “2 cents worth”. I gave my mind free reign and easily slid into the quicksand of stories and agreements. I thought in ‘rational’ terms. Truth: I rationalized the agreement. I played it ‘safe’.  In essence I agreed to live my life through everyone else around me. Truth: I let fear have it’s way with me.

My mind agreed. Once that agreement was signed in blood, I only had to let the leash lead me. My mind was willing. My body has been fighting every step of the way.

My body has been fighting every step of the way. The sinking feelings. The aches and pains. The fears that seemingly comes from nowhere. The sudden grief materializing out of thin air. The inability to get out and live for months on end.

Sound a little like depression? No kidding.

Truth: It’s taken me quite some time to learn that there was nothing well-meaning or healthy about it.

None of the agreements I made and the stories I held onto served the world. Nothing improved due to my choices. If anything, the happiness I professed to trade my purpose for, was a figment of my imagination.

Invariably shift happens, right?! The anvil of impeccability.

My body is excited! Despite the fact that I am sitting on the floor with a laptop on, well, my lap, my body is doing it’s little sitting-on-the-floor-with-a-laptop dance!! My body knows truth when she is in it.

I do not believe in destiny, though I feel with certainty that I have, as we all have, a purpose.  Perhaps I am not here to become a Nobel laureate, sports star, genocidal political official (that’s a relief) or whatever else defines grand. At the same time, I do have that grand purpose – not my role to play – but meaningful possibility.

My purpose has been here all along. Somewhere along the way, I agreed not to see it. A beautiful example of creating my own suffering.

My body knows this too. For this I don’t need a test or a counselor. My body is my barometer. That’s not to say that I will allow myself to realize and manifest my purpose. Through the forest of Fear and the bogs of Shame tread I.

Learning to recognize what is mine and what isn’t and why I lay claim to the agreement of others. There is more than conditioning at work here. To heal and grow will take more than letting go. Giving myself permission to actualize my purpose.

The lies, stories and the agreements (which include stories I may tell myself) helped me to design and build the obstacles with which I have paved my yellow brick road.

(Thank you, Ken, for sharing your wisdom and truth that is helping me to uncover mine.)

Where am I going? How am I going?

Here comes the next post…