Every Face Tells A Story

‘Reality can be an odd kind of thing,’ I remarked wisely, but no one took any heed of me. ‘Folks just aren’t ready for my wisdom yet, I guess’ I told myself. I wasn’t at all upset at this. I took it in my stride. ‘Reality can be a tricky customer,’ I said again, in a conversational tone. I had gifts course, I knew that. I had several psychic gifts – gifts which very few other people have. The gift of tuning directly into people’s auras for example. It’s as if I’ve known them for years, it’s as if I’ve known them forever. It’s as if I know them better even than their best friend does. Better than they know themselves. This last statement is redundant of course – who knows anything about themselves? We are all strangers to ourselves, when it comes down to it. ‘The stranger within,’ isn’t that what they say? The stranger within generally stays a stranger, in my experience! Never to be discovered, never even to be glimpsed. ‘Reality can be a strange bedfellow,’ I piped up, to no one in particular. No one saw fit to answer me. I was throwing pearls before swine obviously, but that was okay. I didn’t mind, I was just sitting there enjoying the late June sunshine, just watching people walk by on their way to their various destinations. Walking by, walking by. ‘Every face tells a story,’ isn’t that what they say? Every face tells a story. So what were all these faces saying? So many faces, so many stories… I got up then to walk away, looking for a change of scene, and that’s when I realised that I didn’t have a body. I couldn’t get up from the bench where I was sitting because there was no one sitting there! What did I expect? I had taken the Hero Dose, after all. That was another psychic gift to add to the list, it occurred to me then – the gift of not having a body, the gift of not actually being physically anchored in any one particular place. No wonder no one ever answered me – no one could hear me! They probably couldn’t see me either. Perhaps I could communicate telepathically, I wondered. That’s one of my gifts, after all! ‘It’s just another day in paradise,’ I thought then, somewhat incongruously. Just another day in paradise. Nothing to get unduly worried about. Or indeed, worried about at all. Just another day in paradise. ‘All possibilities are allowed in this Endless River of Change,’ I told myself wisely. Even the possibility that this little word ‘allowed’ might provisionally ‘mean something’ is allowed. Everything is allowed. Although of course when we look into it more closely we could see that this word ‘allowed’ doesn’t really mean anything. ‘Allowed’ and ‘disallowed’ are the bars on the window of our prison cell, after all. That’s what we can never see, that neither ‘allowed’ nor ‘disallowed’ mean anything! That’s just so laughable – the inexplicable foolishness of thinking that things could either be ‘allowed’ or ‘disallowed’, ‘permitted’ or ‘prohibited’! The extraordinary, unfathomable, fantastical foolishness of believing that anything could either ‘exist’ or ‘not exist’…

 

 

 

 

 

 

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