De-Consuming Myself

I had to de-consume myself last night.

As I lay there in bed last night, I carefully took all of the fantasy lives I have accumulated, all of the little secret things I have placed here and there in my mind, those things that I cling to into the dark moments of my soul, placed them into small boats on the river of my consciousness, and sent them sailing downstream over the horizon of my wakefulness.

Why?  I came under a heavy burden of realization yesterday, the realization that my life had become exclusively about me - and not about God and others at all.

Everything I seemed to do always seemed to somehow be done to further my own wants or desires - or best case, was done with double motives in mind, both my own and someone else's.  That is a great move if the idea is to make yourself look better and further your own ends.  It is a miserable move if you are called to serve others and glorify God - and seek His holiness and righteousness.

Why?  Because everything becomes consumed with you, what it does for you, how it makes you feel.  Individuals become caricatures of themselves in your dreams as the center of attention is you - never others.
"Seek you first His Kingdom and His Righteousness" said Christ.  "Be ye holy, for I am holy" said God - yet in seeking my own best interests I seek neither God nor holiness but rather my own comfort and satisfaction and reward.

And so I loaded everything up last night and sent it downstream.

After the last one drifted over the edge of my consciousness, there was a mingling of solitude and panic.  The solitude was simply from the emptiness of having everything and everyone moved on.  The panic came myself:  "Who is going to look after you?  What if seeking God's holiness and Kingdom and the best interests of others leaves you with no fulfillment at all?"

The correct answer is, of course, that God will provide.  The actual answer, the one I could give myself, was not nearly that full of faith but was much more of "Then that is the way that it is".

The water of my consciousness is smooth and calm now, with scarcely a ripple across it.  One can almost hear the sound of loons as they prepare for their evening flight across the purple sky, anticipating the stars which I could have never seen if I continued to look down - and at myself.