The Invisible Courtroom

You've never seen a tree apologize for anything.

But you?

You cringe when someone doubts you.

You raise your voice to prove you're right.

You raise your voice to prove you're telling the truth.

You repeat it like a mantra, hoping it will sound more believable the third time around.

It's not funny, is it?

Even the truth becomes a performance when the ego takes over.

I used to think that enlightenment would change everything for me.

Like Eckhart Tolle.

Boom.

A new life.

The ego dissolved.

Eternal happiness.

But when it happened to me seven years ago, in my sister's shower, it wasn't loud.

It was silence.

An unshakeable certainty: everything is fine.

Everything has always been fine.

No fireworks.

Just the end of striving.

But then came the real practice: enlightenment wasn't permanent for me.

I fell back asleep.

So a new challenge arose: noticing how the ego comes back in its costumes.

One of its favorites?

The defender of truth.

Yesterday: she walks in.

“Where's the remote?”

“I don't know,” I replied.

“You must have moved it.”

“I swear I didn't.”

Silence. Suspicion.

Again, that invisible courtroom.

Suddenly, I'm five years old, desperate to be believed.

Desperate to be a good person, trustworthy.

It's ridiculous, isn't it?

All this tension... over a remote control.

But that's how the ego works.

It twists the truth and uses it to beg for love or recognition.

Meanwhile, the deep voice, the one that knows, doesn't need to be believed.

It simply is.

When truth is used to get something, it's no longer truth. It's a strategy.

Thought for the day:

Can you let your truth be silent today?

No justification.
No debate.
Just lived.