The Eyes Behind the Lies

I'm telling myself some truly outrageous lies today.  Like about how it's somebody else's fault , and that I can't be happy until somebody else does something they aren't doing.  In my heart of hearts, I know none of it is true.  My solemn intention for some time has been to release blame because, well, it's like that saying about resentment: it's like swallowing poison and hoping someone else will die. 

I know it's hopeless, useless, and, let's not forget, unkind, to blame other people for my own angry thoughts.  Happiness is an inside job, I tell my children.  It's all "my movie," as my friend Loren would say.  Still, the old habits can be so seductive.  I find myself savoring this trip down Blame-and-Complain Lane. 

And yet, even as I hear my words, I can feel the Presence peering in on me.  It looks like a pair of Eyes behind my physical eyes ~ Eyes that see the Truth ~ looking at me from the inside. The "Eyes behind the lies" I call it. 

"Are you done yet?"
"Nope, but thanks for asking."
"Are you believing any of what you're saying?"
"Not a word.  But I'm enjoying this moment immensely."
"Really?"
"Actually, I'm miserable.  But still not ready."

As miserable as it feels to hang onto being miserable, I take a perverse pleasure in choosing it.  And yet my conversation with the Eyes reminds me that I don't have to stay here.  And I can choose ~ and I always have the choice ~ to let it all go.  If I really want to.  Now that's the key.