If I asked you to tell me about a best day you remember, could you?
If I asked you to tell me about a day that was going well and then headed south, could you?
If I asked you to tell me about a day that held a tragedy, could you?
If I asked you to tell me what you were thinking about each day, could you tell me?
I didn’t think so, but you should be able to say yes to that question.
Because the one thing you have in common with each of those days – and all your days and nights –
is self-talk. And I promise that if you did remember you would be stunned at how similar you talk was whatever was happening in the world outside.
The reason for that is straightforward, too. Your self-talk is nothing more than the switching from dialog to monologue with each thought that arises in your mind.
It couldn’t be a more valuable function because it brings your inner experience, inner life, into your outward life and experience; endeavors that the two become reciprocally understood and a seamless piece of every moment you live.
The mechanisms responsible for all of that internal external mix are your beliefs. A child who eats once a day and who only knows people who eat once a day, believes completely in the normality of that experience. So much so that at his first experience of anyone who has or does more or less, will throw all his assumptions into chaos from the one realization that eating may not be the only difference between he and them.
If we are confident, we begin to recover quickly; if not - wow.
It is here that it begins. This is the base of our beliefs shaping our knowing, our experience; and, sadly, it terrifies most of us into never really looking at this again.
Let’s begin to look now you and I because if we don’t, our knowing, our experience are less than they were meant to be. That not knowing shortens who we are, even if the count of our days is the same.