I was sitting quietly this morning in meditation and in the midst of the stillness, I had a strange thought. One part of me was asking what the meaning of life really is. And yet another part was smiling and not really paying attention at all.
As I waited for further clarification to come, I got a great sense of lightness and laughter.
I placed my hands on my heart and tuned in some more.
And this is what emerged…
There is no meaning to my life. There is no meaning unless I give it meaning. And then it only has the meaning I give it. I also have total choice over the meaning I give it.
No matter what meaning I choose to give my life, it still has no meaning in and of itself.
It is simply a story I have made up to entertain myself and others. Like a bedtime story a mum might sit and make up for her child to get them to sleep. And it can be pricked and burst like a balloon in the twinkling of an eye.
There is no substance to any of it at all. None of it is real. And there’s nothing at all to be serious about.
Observing this from the deep place of stillness within.