Complaining

As time passes I complain less and less about what happens in my life.

When I refer to something that I think (I’ve observed) that troubles people, I only do it because I consider that greater understanding can help one be less -if at all- influenced by it. One can make such a habit out of accepting untrue things as real, that to point out to him what lies they are can be liberating.

But I don’t like to sit and complain about politics, life, how bad they are and so on. Leave alone about how hurt I am. To be very honest, I -as a spiritual being- couldn’t possibly be hurt. And I like to have my thinking closer to that, and further away from playing the poor body, as I know it isn’t true.

I can’t experience misery as a spirit. Nor can I experience devouring a nice pizza, as I have nothing to put it in. So, that’s when my body comes in.

I have realized both my pleasure and pain in life were pretense, as I wasn’t that which directly experienced them.

And I know I wish to experience different things, from now on. But to complain about my past experiences (even those of a moment ago) would be a ticket to the opposite side, for me.

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