Thoughts

I believed that thoughts are me, I trusted them and I followed them. It is not so. I am not the thoughts, I am not the conversations within me, and I am not the voice which used to speak within me.

The voice I followed mislead me, and the voice within me trapped me. I allowed it, I accepted it. So I trapped myself, I trapped me to believe the voice within me is me and I defined myself. I defined myself according words which spoke from me, I judged me and I punished me.

I presented me according judgment of myself, of the polarity, of the desires, of my needs and of my fears. None of them real. Illusions created within and followed, illusions of me lived. Did I live?

How could I lived me and experience me if I follow illusions? How could I experience who I am, moment by moment, if I allow the illusions to lead me?

I was hearing my back-chat millions of times, I believed is me who speak, I trusted that voice behind, I believed that voice is me. It is not.

Based on my judgments of me, my morality, I created personalities within me, 1, 2? No, many and many, worthless to count, as in front of each person my words changed, my expression, I manipulated myself.

Where my thoughts led me? Nowhere, through them I created energy within me, and I defined myself according this energy, based on polarity, on judgment, which one energy I would like to experience and which one not. One as fear, another as anger, another as love or sadness or even joy. And which one definition I lived, that was my experiences, split and friction, constant friction in constant emotional turmoil, many times not noticed what it is what is leading me.

Through the thoughts I created shame within me, desires, I judged what I lived, I feared to speak what I lived, how crazy this is. Worthless, illusions, believed it is me. It is not.

The thoughts deceive, the thoughts lie.

Uncountable how many time-loops I lived, and everything I lived was my mind, following as perfect slave my thoughts, my emotions and feelings, which none of them were real.

The prison of the mind, the bubble of the thoughts. The prison is the mind, perfect, because I believed it is me. How blind I was, how deaf I was.

Simplicity of the prison of the mind is, that it was me who allowed it.

Thanks, Juraj