(A fictional reflection.)
I’m sad. I was hurt. The things you said and did, the words unspoken and the deeds not done, they still sting. And they may haunt me for the rest of this lifetime.
But peace is a palace, not a prison.What does that mean?
It means I’m at peace; I’m sad, but I’m not distressed.
Hurt is a great teacher. A chance to expand into that palace. An invitation to see through the illusion of the prison.
Why was I hurt? It’s a wee bit daft. I know what you are like, I’ve always known. How come I outsourced some of my sense of self to your ever changing opinion?
Of course, as ever, it comes down to this:
There was a hidden belief, like a troll under a rock, that the essence of me could be made more or less. A subconscious acceptance of the appearance that you are other than me.
In the seeing of this conditioning, exposed to the light, it looks faintly farcical.
Yes, the person of you hurt the person of me.
In that hurt lies the freedom of knowing my own Self as peace.
The freedom to move beyond the perceived limitation of hurt.
And the freedom to be sad, but not distressed.