Tag: ego

THE CONCEPT OF ME

by Maasaisis

Aren’t so many of us in search of meaning in our lives? Isn’t that quest ultimately driven by the age-old question, Who am I?

When we’re born, most of us don’t yet know who we are. As we move through life, we begin to fill that blank space with ideas shaped by our experiences and the people around us. We form an image of who we should be—one that reflects inherited beliefs about what makes us worthy, safe, and special. Over time, we find ourselves striving toward that image or resisting anything that threatens it.

Our sense of good and bad is shaped entirely by experience. Some of us are even taught to mold ourselves into someone else’s version of “good,” or to believe that what another person calls “bad” is actually right.

Being born can feel like beginning a painting on a blank canvas. At first, each brushstroke is our own, but as life unfolds, other hands begin touching the canvas—through influence, circumstance, and expectation. Eventually the shapes and colors morph into something foreign, something other than me.

So we keep painting, layering new strokes in search of meaning, hoping to finally create something magnificent. Yet the more we add, the more we forget what was there before the first stroke—the untouched space that quietly recognizes itself completely.

Perhaps our longing comes from that remembrance. In this way, the world becomes the practice ground—to learn to unlearn the belief that we must become something in order to find peace. We gently undo every version of ourselves we thought we needed, each one an avatar created for a different chapter of the dream. But who is the one dreaming the life lived through them?

It can feel mind-bending, especially when our senses insist that only matter is real. Yet suffering always arises at the borders of the self-concepts that make up the collective—the places where we divide and separate. When the little “i” of separation becomes the center of perception, we can’t fathom the all-inclusive reality of Love—a Love so abundant it breaks the laws of this world, where one’s gain must come at another’s loss. In the realm of the shared Self, what is given is also received, because the giving and receiving happen within the same One.

When I scrutinize what version of myself would finally make me happy, I see that I can never be truly satisfied, no matter what I overcome, do, or achieve. Fulfillment based on what my body does—or fails to do—is always temporary. I find myself asking: What are these values for? What version of myself am I protecting, and why am I so afraid of losing it? Perhaps it’s because I made it and it feels so precious.

The healthy self, the creative self, the strong self, the generous self—all exist beside their opposites, each quietly in conflict with the other. Life becomes a dance between these selves, each grasping at fleeting ideas of happiness and safety.

My state fluctuates with my mind. My vitality can be snatched away in an instant when old fears catch up with me in a single thought. Even when nothing around me has changed, the thought I don’t want this to change can take my healthy self hostage, seized by the one facing the formidable unknown.

These moments remind me, viscerally, that no version of my constructed self can protect me from impermanence. Peace can only be found through trust in divine law—the truth that we are already perfect, whole, and eternally safe as we were created, of the same essence, beyond any concept of ourselves we could imagine.

I can only begin to envision that everlasting beauty, and so I practice believing—trusting that what is real has never changed.

When I contemplate my true identity as a perfect creation untouched by what I think or do, I feel immense relief. Whatever I believe I am—or should be—has nothing to do with what I truly am. Beneath all layers of self-concept lies the original, unalterable holy Self, exactly as Love created me. This same unchanging Self lives in everyone, quietly waiting to be remembered. And because our minds are ultimately joined, remembering it in myself and choosing to recognize it in others helps reveal it in all. This is no easy feat, especially in the face of pain or injustice, nor does it turn me into a passive bystander to be tossed about. It does, however, give me the sense that I’m standing for something meaningful—something that points toward a freedom resting on stable ground.

Duality—the yin and yang of life—reflects the tension of opposites that governs this finite world. But what if duality was a choice we made with the first stroke on our canvas? What if we set in motion a painting meant to contain everything we thought we wanted, only to discover that no canvas could ever hold what we truly are?

And yet, beneath every shifting stroke, something changeless remains. The shared Self is untouched by striving, fear, or judgment. The world continues to teach and challenge us, but we can look beyond its rules for solutions—to step back, breathe, and question what is determining our state.

When the insanity and heartbreak of this world bring me to my knees, my practice is to return home—to divine reality—where our shared essence holds us, and peace is all there is.

Holding this paradox—the life we experience and the perfection of our true identity—is where I seek freedom. As we release the layers of self-concept that shift with every experience, we find steadier ground within. Each moment of awareness becomes an opportunity to return to that quiet, unchanging Self—the part of us that has never been lost. Even for an instant. And that instant can lengthen into the next, and the next.

Life is not about finishing the painting or capturing every detail perfectly. It is about remembering that the masterpiece already exists within us—the quiet assurance that nothing we do or fail to do can alter what is already complete.

ACIM LESSON199: I AM NOT A BODY I AM FREE

This blog was inspired by my reflections on my weekly ACIM Essentials class, “A Case of Mistaken Identity,” taught by Robert and Emily Perry at the Circle of Atonement. They have a vast selection of podcasts exploring A Course In Miracles here https://circleofa.org/podcast/

GOD’S GUARANTEE

by Maasaisis

I was searching for God in my dream last night. Where are You? I need to know that You are there. I need to know that I’ve invested in what is real. I need to know that Your promise is the truth. I need to experience it in a tangible way — through my felt senses, here and now.

And then, in an instant, He answered my call.

From the room of my dreamscape, I was lifted and suspended in the open space of my mind — my back to what I’d left behind, my heart open to the light that filled the sky. A surge of ecstatic love rippled through every cell of my being until I became it. God’s love filled all the cracks of fear and doubt within me. The joy I felt broke the lineage of time and folded into itself to always. The jubilation of receiving proof that I had placed my trust in Truth was the only answer I ever wanted.

I can still feel the realness of that dream — how my prayer was answered in a way so certain and strong that it carried into waking life. Its presence now is a guiding light through the trials we are to navigate. Our collective ailment of fear is like a house of mirrors, reflecting our individual plights in distorted ways — each of us wrestling with different shapes of the same illusion. Fear convinces us we are alone, fending for ourselves, while love reminds us that we belong to a unified force far greater than anything we face on our own.

What makes us feel so alone? It can only come from believing we are separate from each other. A Course in Miracles teaches that we were born from perfect love, created with limitless potential. Yet somewhere along the way, the idea of a separate self arose — what was One seemed to become many — a choice made through our own free will.

Making the choice to separate from the love that held us all is where our initial sense of guilt took root. Fear then becomes the fuel that keeps the illusion of separation alive. The Course helps me see that an all-loving God didn’t create suffering — we did, through the limitations we place upon ourselves, and by guarding the idea of the self we made.

It’s that time of year again — when autumn’s changing colors remind me that we’re moving into the season where darkness begins to dominate the day. It’s shedding time. The trees make it look effortless to let go and dare to be bare, but it’s not so easy for me to stand naked amid the landscape of my scurrying thoughts.

As the light gives way to darkness, so do my thoughts. My mind keeps hooking into where I was this time last year. Old stories have a way of repeating, creating more of the same — especially when a trigger appears. Yesterday gets dragged into tomorrow, skipping the beauty of today. The body follows wherever the mind gets caught. Fear travels that line and embeds itself in the tissues, plucking a string like a note on a guitar — echoing the story I thought I’d left behind. I feel the familiar tightening in my chest wall, and my breath hitches.

Unconsciously, my hand traces the smooth contour of what remains of my right breast — a stark contrast to the rough terrain of bound-up scar tissue beside it. The small leftover lumps that appeared on the PET scan lie beneath the part I got to keep. To feel them, I used to have to press my fingertips deep, but that has changed as of late. They are moving toward the surface, pronounced and making their presence known. My fingers anxiously feel them, a habit from before, which is taking root in the fertile soil of my mind. How easy it is to falter beneath the snowball effect of fear, to get lost in “what ifs” and “what to do?”

Nothing in my present state even comes close to where my mind tries to take me. Physically, I feel vital — stronger than I have in years. Yet fear, born in the past, has the power to erase all proof of truth in the now. The anxiety of having my current blessings robbed by what this could mean is a ball and chain that can easily take me down.

I anchor to God’s guarantee that I felt in my dream — that my true Self is not my body or the things that happen to it in the passing of time. I carry a small treasury of A Course in Miracles lessons within me — teachings that help me unhook fear’s grip and return to refuge. I steady my runaway thoughts with a remedy found in a lesson: I can be hurt by nothing but my thoughts. I breathe it in, examine my thoughts, and ask gently: What thought am I believing in?

At the root of them all is the fear that God would abandon me.

I have to admit — my faith is not yet whole. Somewhere in the shadows lurks a quiet terror: what if I’m wrong?

So I begin again — the slow, steady work of untying the knots in my thoughts. Finding freedom in reaffirming what I’ve learned and experienced. The evidence of receiving guidance and finding my way is held in God’s love, extended through His Sons and Daughters no matter what I am up against.

I want to affirm that my body’s sole purpose is to extend love — that life’s work is to forgive the false concepts we’ve made of ourselves and others, the ones that make us forget what we are really made of. Even when fear trickles in when I keep God at arm’s length, somehow His grace always invites me back Home, to where love lives and where I am forever safe.

SPECIALNESS

by Maasaisis

Sometimes, clarity shines through like a beam of sunlight breaking through a dense forest—direct, bright, and penetrating. As I walk, spinning my prayer beads between my fingers, I realize that cancer is giving me an opportunity to see either through the eyes of fear or through the inner eye that reveals how I mold my reality to appease the demands of an unquenchable ego.

Beneath the many facets of fear that seek to control and wreak havoc lies a deep desire to be seen. As I learn the tactics of the ego, I am humbled by what my prayers reveal. Ego will weaponize fear to prevent me from stepping into the expansiveness of God’s perfect Creation. Attacks of belittling fertilize the ground for self-punishment and outward projection, attempting to fill the self-imposed cracks.

The need to feel important can only be rooted in the belief that we are separate from one another. Otherwise, why would we need to feel special? If we acknowledge that we are all of the Same, then we wouldn’t need to constantly be assured that we matter. When our perception of who we think we are—or who we should be—is challenged, we often respond by attacking and distorting our reality to assert how we want to be seen in the world. Is my twisted ego making me feel special because of cancer? The thought stopped me in my tracks.

Cocooned in the safety of the forest, I dared myself to be perfectly honest. Is my illness a manifestation of seeking love and acceptance? Am I coveting care and validation from others through this disease? Have I allowed myself to be defined by sickness? And the biggest question of all…did I create cancer? If so, can right mindedness reverse what was miscreated?

The discomfort and resistance of pondering these questions made it clear that even in the throes of struggle, egoic pretenses exist. The justifications that immediately followed only confirmed my realization. There are deeper layers of healing beckoning my awareness beneath the superficial symptoms. The lovelessness stemming from projections of myself, rooted in self-preservation disguised as safety, is not who I truly am. I can only pray for guidance as I align my will to bring to light what truly needs healing.

The willingness to uncover the matrix of my operating system can only come through forgiveness. It’s the pathway to avoid falling into the perpetual cycle of attacks—the default program of the human condition. In my study group for A Course In Miracles, I’ve learned to ask ‘says who?’ whenever I feel uneasy. The true Self always seeks to break through with love, inclusivity, and acknowledges the sameness in us. Letting go of needing any kind of validation from others is like a long exhale into ease.

Discomfort serves as a cue to inquire about who is truly in control. If I have the awareness to catch myself in fear, which fuel cycles of attack, competition, justification, grief, righteousness, guilt, denial, disempowerment, and inner arguments of othering, then I need to take a good look at who is running the show.

The challenge with waking up is that it’s easy to konk out and slip back into autopilot. Perhaps this is why we find ourselves here, with our humanness being our teacher or our foe. Aren’t we all running variations of the same program? One that evades fear, seeks love, yearns for uniqueness and correctness, and strives to achieve these in complex ways that often leave us feeling more isolated? Isn’t suffering rooted in our sense of feeling alone and doing whatever it takes to feel less afraid and disconnected?

What if our true nature is the opposite of all that? What if it’s just buried beneath layers of our projections, always prompting us to uncover what is already there? What if healing springs from remembering that what we truly seek is inherent within us, and everything else is perpetuated by the miscreations of our own will? What if we could just grasp the expanse of our true magnificence?

LESSON: ALL THE LAMPS OF GOD WERE LIT WITH THE SAME SPARK.

-A COURSE IN MIRACLES

Banner painting: “REVELATION”- Acrylic on canvas by Maasa

LIBERATING THE GIRL IN THE ORANGE TUTU.

by Maasaisis

I’ve taken my place on stage, and all I can see are the silhouettes of what look like hundreds of people beneath the blaring lights shining directly on me. Our flamenco group, Las Llamadas Del Flamenco, has been practicing diligently for this very moment: to dance at the Starbelly Festival in a prime evening slot. Then, it happens again. My mind goes blank, and I feel myself distancing from my own body as panic sets in. I’m experiencing myself outside of myself, and I know that I will cause a train wreck if I don’t get out of my head. This disconnect is not new; I’ve felt it when the pressure of perfectionism rears its ugly head.

The first time this happened is one of my earliest memories. I was five, maybe six, enrolled in the prestigious Miyashita Ballet School in Kyoto, Japan. The school was known for its rigorous and comprehensive ballet training, even for young dancers. I remember the day of our big performance. Mama, along with all the other moms, was getting me ready backstage, slathering make up on my face and slicking my hair back into a tight bun on the top of my head. It was so tight that it pulled my eyes up, but no amount of pulling could hide the obvious Caucasian traits of my gangly limbs and my reddish, light brown hair. Amongst the thick, silky black hair and the build of other Japanese dancers, I was already blatantly out of place.

We all took our positions on stage, dressed in our orange tutus. I looked for my parents, but the lights blinded me. As the music started, I felt my heart in my throat, and suddenly, my mind went blank. I had no idea what I was doing up there, and my only reaction to the sudden displacement within myself was to move to the music. But my dance was entirely my own and bore no resemblance to what I had learned. I vaguely remember making the commitment to keep moving, flying solo on a gust of wind that only I could feel against the unified flock of orange tutus. I was completely in my own world throughout the entire performance, a fact that everyone witnessed. When others made it evident that I had made a colossal mistake, it forced me to carry the weight of a newfound burden of shame.

Fast forward forty-five or so years later, I’m back on stage, and I find myself on the outer perimeters of myself, desperately clinging to presence. The music starts to sound out of sync with my tapping feet, and I realize I’ve missed a cue. Drifting apart from the other dancers, who move seamlessly in sync, my mind teeters on the precipice of a total blank as I struggle to regain composure. Within the crisis, my body takes over and aligns with my group in the next bar. I have no idea how long I have been out. I willed myself to focus on my sisters on stage and to calibrate with them rather than with my competing mind that was trying to hijack the performance. It was a tug of war that I somehow managed to dance through, but not without leaving its ugly mark.

The idea of preparing for and attending a three-day festival, vending my art and performing late into the night, might have been a stretch. I had missed a flamenco performance a few months earlier because my body simply said ‘no’. After five months in treatment, a couple of visits to the ER, and dealing with a gnarly ulcerated tumour, I needed a win, so I did it. I showed up anyway with a wing and a prayer.

My shame over not performing as well as I knew I could, with a mistake I couldn’t forgive, cast a dark shadow from the moment I left the stage, despite the exuberant applause of the crowd. I was deaf to any compliment that followed. Consumed by the desire to hide, I couldn’t help but feel that I let my group down. Frustration set in as I realized I’d fallen victim to my ‘old program,’ perhaps starting back when I was the rogue dancer in my orange tutu. Exhausted and upset, I couldn’t let it go. My ego had robbed me of the joy I could have celebrated simply by being there and able to dance at all.

I awoke from a restless night of sleep, still sticky with the residue of regret over what could have been. In the light of day, I realized that an old program had surfaced because it was ready to be healed. That little girl in the orange tutu longed to be liberated, but I didn’t know how, as my ego still dominated my mind space. I’ve learned to ask for help through prayer when I’m stuck. I prayed to be liberated from attacking myself. I prayed to forgive the false perception of myself and to have a beautiful day filled with meaningful connections. I sincerely prayed to let it go.

As I walked toward my tent filled with my visionary creations, a woman stopped me along the way. Her eyes welled up as she told me that the solo I performed the night before moved her to tears. Feeling her sincerity and her need to express appreciation for my performance, my heart instantly opened to receive her perspective, releasing what was holding me. The miracle was that I actually believed her.

The day continued with numerous people expressing their love for our performance, highlighting how our group moved together while showcasing our individual gifts of creative expression. I was gobsmacked. Their perception was entirely different from how I perceived it; I was so focused on what I did wrong rather than celebrating dancing with my flamencas—a typical sabotage of the ego, which only attacks to seek importance.

The Holy Spirit showed me that healing isn’t done alone; it happens with the help of others who can shed light on who we really are beneath the distortions lurking in our subconscious. What blew my mind was seeing the footage of our dance performance. As I cringed, anticipating the part where my mistake occurred, I was shocked to find that it came and went in a flash. During that time, I was entirely in sync with the music, doing something different from the others but it looked intentional and seamlessly integrated into the whole dance. Perfectly imperfect, the girl in the orange tutu was finally liberated.

LESSON: THE EGO ALWAYS SEEKS IMPORTANCE AND WILL ATTACK AND SEPARATE FROM THE WHOLE IN ORDER TO DO SO.

THE PATIENT PATIENT

by Maasaisis

I’m battling the Saboteur, determined to resist its attempts to tarnish the glow following a delightful stroll in the sunlit forest. It lures me into exchanging it for a darker version of my circumstance. During the walk, I was impressed by my ability to maintain a brisk pace without compromising my stamina. Even on the uphill climb, I sensed newfound strength compared to my previous treks.

Returning home, exhaustion engulfed me, my focus latched onto the energy being syphoned out of me. The electric pain travelling through my body brings my attention to a new, suspicious discolouration under my breast. Now, the Saboteur transforms into the Victim, and a sense of helplessness drags me into shutdown mode. The mind, once uplifted in the forest, now succumbs to weightier thoughts-dragging me into numbing sleep.

Negative thoughts possess a density capable of overshadowing the light without a moment’s notice. They filter out the wisdom I’ve gathered into a blank void. The Victim induces temporary memory loss of all that I have to be grateful for. It’s evident that I’m not a patient patient, and I’m frustrated with life revolving around the central axis of my health. I’m frustrated with being frustrated when I know the only way through this is to allow it to be whatever it is. I’m looking for ways to escape but this will follow me wherever I go.

A sickly-looking woman is gazing back at me in the mirror. She has a shaved head with patches missing and dark spots decorating her skin. Who is this person looking back at me? What is her purpose?

The judgement values that have served as a measure of my self worth is suffocating me. I can no longer rise to the gold standard to satisfy the insatiable need to achieve more. These unreasonable expectations, even at the best of times, demand ‘you should be’ orders, kicking me while I’m down. Curled up with my hands pressed on my ears, guilt washes over me.

A chasm exists between the part of myself witnessing this self-abuse and the one perpetuating it. The witness sees the dominating pattern that has been running the show all my life. She shakes her head with her hand on her heart while the abuser is barking orders, pushing me to do and be more. The irony lies in the fact that the relentless drive to achieve more has been a fundamental building block shaping who I am today. Now, I’m being forced to find a new way to satiate the need to do more to feel of value.

It feels like the stripping away of what used to give me a sense of purpose is bringing me closer to my real purpose. I still don’t know what that is, but I sense that I’m immersed in it without fully recognizing its value. This is where the healing needs to happen. Instead of feeling weak and aimless, how about translating it as a sign of healing? How about taking this exhaustion and the need for rest as a sign of my body recalibrating? How about viewing my unstable emotional state as a reflection of the beauty of my vulnerability, rather than something to dismiss with a smile? How about the grace of love to be enough as I am now?

Perhaps a deeper alchemy is unfolding beneath the biological changes induced by these medications, maybe budding beneath the layers of depression and exhaustion. This slow, sticky, stagnated state could serve as the perfect incubation ground for whatever needs to be realized and embodied in preparation for my next phase. At some level, I’m still in denial about what is happening inside me, clinging to the idea that life should continue just as it did before. Amidst the complexity, there are numerous layers—some more readily peeled away, while others need to be left as they are, forming the foundational base of what is to come.

LESSON: PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

BELIEF AND BIAS

by Maasaisis

Is Rumi referring to the quantum field when he said, “What you are seeking is also seeking you”? If the universe consistently responds to the vibrations we emit, could all experiences be inherently personal, rendering the concept of an absolute truth obsolete?

The very framework of my identity is now undergoing construction. Growth demands space for expansion, and the residence I’ve inhabited is no longer conducive to my evolution. The challenge lies in recognizing what no longer serves my development. I must rearrange some structural elements that supported me, even if it’s scary to build in a place where safety isn’t guaranteed. This new design must be created as I go, and I have no idea what I’m building.

The last few months have been a kick in the gut for my ego. Clumps of hair fall out in fistfuls, and gray hairs populate what’s left. At the peak of my angry tumor, there’s a loonie-sized scab with a mind of its own. My ears are taking turns blocking out this reality, and it feels like I’m underwater. For the first time, I feel like I know absolutely nothing. Electrical pain communicates from my breast to my sternum and into my ribs. Breathing feels like someone sitting on my chest. Rashes come and go, confirming my inability to rein in the rapid changes my body is undergoing. I’ve been in denial about the metastasis of this cancer, but I can no longer ignore what my body is telling me.

This lump resembles the ego. Cells that have separated from the whole, adopting a dominating existence, attempt to convince other cells of their singularity and importance. It’s a mutiny against homeostasis, recruiting cells at a rapid rate. They all seem to have forgotten their origin, and it’s up to me to help them remember their harmonious nature. A significant inner renovation is taking place, and new methods will be utilized for this next version of me.

The contradictions I encounter daily are becoming amusingly apparent. The only certainty is that there is no Plan A or B, no right or wrong—only the entirety of existence. What I’m uncovering is that every idea is steeped in bias, supported by evidence that is subsequently contradicted by opposing biases. For instance, a deep dive into a study by a doctor claiming cancer feeds on glutamine and sugar, portraying cancer as a metabolic disease, is countered by another study refuting the entire notion. Whom do I believe? Whom do I trust for my cure?

This perplexing disease reportedly afflicts 40% of the Western population. Despite substantial investments in research and resources, the understanding and treatment of cancer remain elusive in the long run. The presence of conflicting information prompts a crucial question: How can we discover effective and curative treatments without a clear understanding of the truth about the disease? Why do some people heal while others don’t? Does it have to do with our own beliefs and biases, or is there something at the soul level that decides?

I’m starting to discern a connection between belief, bias, and the seemingly supportive evidence—a sort of quantum revelation. Like physicists studying subatomic particles, there was a debate about their nature. Some believed they behaved like matter, while others argued for an energy-like behavior. The revelation was that the behavior of these particles, essential for everything living and even non-living, shifts depending on the observer and their predisposed beliefs.

As the structure of my metaphorical house undergoes reconstruction, I question the trajectory that brought me to this juncture. Would I be facing this health crisis if I had followed the initial recommendations of doctors? Was it a mistake to exclusively embrace German New Medicine to understand this disease? Despite the numerous case studies supporting GNM with 100% accuracy, did my cancer resurface only when doubt and fear crept in? Am I a victim of this disease, did I unconsciously create it, was it part of my soul contract, or none of it and all of it? Will I ever know why? These questions will have to be laid to rest beneath the earth of what will be built.

In the midst of treatment, there will be no gradual ceremony marking my transition from mother to crone. The crone archetype embodies wisdom from a lifetime of experiences. I strive to enter a slower, empowered, and all-encompassing phase of life. This choice is available in every moment, even if momentarily forgotten when things get really messy. I embrace the conscious leap across the threshold into medically induced menopause, honouring the fertile grounds that gave rise to my daughter.

I must strive to find stillness at the center of the cyclone. My purpose is to come back to myself when external forces try to pull me out of orbit. In my center, there’s peace and recognition that everything that came before is a vital piece of the giant puzzle. This place beckons me to be gentle, to love myself, to have faith, be grateful, and bless this treatment so it will work. I’ll have to bend like a willow tree, flexible and resilient, embracing the winds of change.

LESSON: HEAVEN IS A STATE OF MIND.

WHO IS THE FALSE SELF?

by Maasaisis

“When a brother perceives himself as sick, he is perceiving himself not as whole.”

– A Course in Miracles

The decision to be the author of my own story means that I must pay attention to who is writing the script. Is it the person who is trying to survive or is it the person choosing to live? For me, the difference is that one is making choices referring to the past and the latter is open to something new.

Close to two years ago I left the conventional medical system for the second time after my lumpectomy. The last bit of information I got was that cancer cells were found in one of my lymph nodes. I’ve solely relied on my inner barometer to gauge my wellbeing since then. I am choosing to live rather than being a survivor. This is no easy feat when my mind projects illusions and entices me to believe in them.

Discomfort is an opportunity for a course correction. Studying A Course In Miracles is teaching me that. My sole intention to share my interpretation of what I am learning is to encode it. Writing about what I’m practicing helps to create new circuits in my brain to reinforce how I want to live.

A Course In Miracles teaches us that we were created to co-create in the “image and likeness” of Source. We were given a mind to extend the love of that which we are made of. Yet we have such difficulties directing it to ourselves and unto others. That is how we became attached to the mind that creates our suffering.

In the boundless freedom to create, we created a mind that identifies only with itself- the false self. The ego mind separated from the unalterable nature of Source to serve its own identity. Its survival depends on us believing in its projections. The projections are based on comparisons because it sees itself apart from everything else. Comparisons lead to judgement, judgement leads to anger, anger leads to pain and the cycle of suffering affirms itself. This is the misperception that the ego miscreated to preserve its role as protector.

Ego refers to the past and chooses the best option for the present. It expands on what has worked for us and tries to protect us from what’s hurt us. This is how it attempts to secure a future but it’s based on the illusion that we need protection. Our ego takes the lead role in the story it writes. Until we recognize who is writing the story we can not change the script.

To heal is to correct the perception that I am broken. To heal is to be certain of who I am. To heal is to redirect my mind to love and reside in our infinite nature.

The greatest obstacle in my life became the greatest opportunity to know myself. To end the conflict with myself, I must recognize when my ego is obscuring my perception to believe in it. I’ve been practicing by paying attention to how I see others. My perception and cues from my feelings tell me if I’m offline or aligned with the divine. It takes a great amount of awareness but that is why it is a practice!

As an artist, I realize why I love to paint. It’s because I love my creations as an extension of Source. My heart informs my hands and my creation informs my mind of my true origin- there I find peace.

PS: My simple understanding of what I am learning in ACM is serving me. I have included Dr. Wapnick’s video to offer a broader view.

LESSON: AWARENESS IS KEY FOR SELF REALIZATION. PAY ATTENTION TO CUES!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWTJ9bhtN18

“Creatrix” painting by Maasa- More info on http://www.maasa.ca