I’m forty-one, and I honestly have no idea how I came to be this age, where and how time has gone by.
Something happens when you cross the threshold into your forties. You feel — you know for sure – that you are a perishable being and that your non-existence in this world is approaching. You feel the changes in your body, and it won’t allow you to ignore them anymore.
It’s bizarre to think of your own death. — Can you even conceive your non-existence? Will the world still go on if you don’t exist anymore? And will it matter? Not to you.
Where will your world be, then? Will it be another one? Maybe just a dark space, somewhere in the nothingness. Will it be small, or lonely? Vast? Full of sadness, or joy? A prison, or the ultimate freedom?
I’m reading a course in Miracles. It says that we — the essence of us — can not die because we are of God. Once God makes something, it’s a part of Him forever. And since He can’t die, nor can we.
It must be true. I hope it’s true. Otherwise, not much of this existence makes sense.
Truth surprises you. It won’t be how you expected it to be, nor what you wanted it to look like. And it might come from unexpected places.
The truth will shock you first, make you want to look away. Then, it’ll slowly change you. It will cut into the deepest parts of you to get to your core and your essence.
Are you willing to accept it, no matter what? Even if it doesn’t fit in with your plans? Even if it might look like it breaks your world and who you thought you are into pieces? – If it’s breakable, it wasn’t real to begin with.
It might turn out that what the truth broke was but the glass walls of the prison you put yourself in, imagining it’s a safe and cozy palace. And it might turn out that the mirror you were holding in front of you was just distorting your image and limiting your vision.
If you have the courage to pursue truth, you’ll soon discover that what it destroyed didn’t matter after all. It was just dust, blocking the light to your real self and holding back the touch of God.