What Happens Is A Parable.

Apparently - and I'm dropping the pedantic semantics because they apparently get on my nerves - I invested some time telling someone yesterday that they were worthwhile. I got right into the story. I regaled this perfectly lovely person with my own story of becoming, the richly paradoxical quality of this circumstance not entirely lost on me. It was the story of unconditional love. For most of my life and until not too long ago, I believed that I shouldn't exist. Any sense of my intrinsic worth was completely hidden from me. That excruciatingly uncomfortable sense of being out of place in the world was hideously pronounced for me; no matter what I did, no matter how I performed, it was inadequate. Not that it matters, but I understand, with my mind even, that the big hole in my middle, that sense of incompleteness and unease, was in fact the sense of being separate from everything. There were many stories that came out about why this was so: messages from my childhood, disappointment that my potential was never fulfilled. But the truth was elusive; I didn't understand yet that the messages, all of them on the theme of "you should never have been born," were counter-intuitively my invitation back into oneness, and that my potential is always fulfilled. The story I regaled my friend with was the parable of realising my worth. This is just another story, but a powerful one; I was shown over and over, by the love of others, that I was worthwhile. These others showed me my worth by giving me their time and effort, by actually telling me they loved me, and by sticking with me through some shockingly destructive behaviour. It was shown to me by going into a roomful of people, confessing some of the detail of this behaviour, and not being judged to be "bad". It was shown to me by the loyalty of my family, and by the care of professionals, who transcended their paid-to-care status and really invested themselves in my recovery. And one day, after a great deal of analysis and revelatory emotion, it was plainly obvious that I was a worthwhile creature, with a right to exist. It was plainly, glaringly obvious, and most importantly, it had always been the case; it was simply hidden from me. And this is the parable of awakening. No one is ever separate; we just think we are. Sometimes, the veil is thrown aside, and the absolute nature of reality is plainly seen. There is no longer a person struggling; there is just struggle. Taking everything so seriously melts away; there is no one to take it seriously, there never was. Oneness was always the case. Oneness is always the case. Oneness is, whether we dream we are separate or not.