It rather startles me sometimes how throughly the ego prepares its dramatical scripts. Recently, quite separately, a couple of friends of mine have gone through very difficult emotional periods, breaking away from old dramas. After a brief period of growing calm and happiness, plan B steps in. Or should I say pain B. The curtain opens on a new scene in the drama and it soon becomes apparent it was there, waiting in the wings. In reserve.
Too often, we find a sense of self in our suffering. Closely related to the idea that an artist must suffer to create. I must suffer to be a mother /wife /employee /man /multiple choice. When we find an opportunity to step out of the drama, the sense of self can seem lost. And thus doth Pain B step to the stage. The actors may change and the theme may change, but the drama runs again. Relationship tragedy becomes crisis with the kids becomes mortgage disaster.
The dream has a persistence like this because it is seen as real. When we see it collapsing with regularity, as all dreams do, we soon learn to keep others in reserve in the wine cellar. Only these ones are not vintage. They have turned to vinegar. Pay attention and you’ll see you’ve seen them before. In our parents life, in our own life. They are like a broken record. The broken record of pain. Also known as the wheel of karma.
What draws the most compassion is how pointless it is. Once past the illusion, it is seen through and the meaninglessness of the drama is seen. We might say the theatre should be shut down, but it never opened. There is no audience. No stage. The only heat thats there to boil the soup is your own. Turn off the heat and the soup becomes transparent, is seen through. The drama soothes. The stories end.
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