Roles: Internal and External

Roles in our mind

By Cathy Eck

 

False Self

Our mind works like a movie projector to create our view of the world.  We experience what we’re projecting with our body.  If we only had a True Self, we’d live in the Garden of Eden.  But watching fruit grow on trees is boring.  So we create stories.

Reality equals the True Self plus our Beliefs (false self)

A good metaphor for the false self (as designed) is temporary storage.  The True Self is permanent storage.  One person creates a story within their mind.  This person splits up their mind into multiple characters that interact, but all the characters exist within the story writer’s mind, forming an illusory creative whole.  The storyteller brings that inner creation into the outer world via “The Word.”  At this point, the story writer is done.  Now humans co-create to perform the story, and they’re thrilled to do that because it’s fun, and it’s just a role.  They get to walk in someone else’s shoes for a short time.  Each actor is a valuable part of the whole.  If a few actors don’t show up, the story would dissolve.

Hollywood does this perfectly; it’s a haven for creativity.  Business people also create visions then bring others in to play roles within the vision.  No one is chained to these visions for life.  When they finish their role, they delete the story.  Their minds are virgin again.

Religion is different.  Someone creates  a story, and they make it true.  They cast people into roles that never end.  It’s like the “Hotel California.”  “You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”  Why?  You forgot that you could let go of the role.

We love story.  We don’t care how wild and crazy the story is.  Actors play horrible roles, but they don’t become the characters permanently.  When the role is done, they drop it because they view it as a temporary role — it’s not who they are.

Roles aren’t the problem.  The problem is the belief that we are our roles or that we can’t let them go.  Roles come with beliefs so they cause us to retain beliefs that we don’t need or want.

 

The Illusion

In the illusion, the lead masculine role casts the story and then convinces others that they must play the roles they’re cast in for life.  No wonder we want to die.  They give us the shit roles while they get the A-list parts.  Most people are playing roles in a story that they didn’t create and don’t really like — no great actor would do that.

We came here to create stories and play roles — for sure.  But we don’t have the right to make lifetime roles — that is why the Lifetime channel makes crappy movies.

 

Getting Free of Roles

To get free, we must identify who’s playing the masculine role of the screenplay we’re cast in.  What do they want from us?  What do they define as good or right?  What beliefs have we accepted because of that role?  As we let go of the beliefs around the role, we gradually step back until one day we can see the big picture from the director’s chair.  We see that our role is just a role.  It isn’t our destiny, purpose, or karma.  We don’t have to play it anymore.

Then we’ll see that everyone in the illusory play was an actor, even our worst enemy.  We’ll applaud them, not hate them.  They probably didn’t choose their role either.  Most people today are playing roles cast by their ancestors in a story that was written thousands of years ago.  We’re afraid to quit our roles because we think God gave them to us.  The story writers said their stories were cast by God so we’d accept a role that sucked.  Can you see how fucking stupid that is?

The illusion feels like hell believes everyone identifies with their role.  The think they are a Jew, Christian, or Lightworker.  But they aren’t.  It’s a role.

We don’t let go because we become vested in the story.  Let’s look at the story of Armageddon.  Those who believe that the story was created by God won’t let it go.  They want the story to play out to the end, and they believe that they’ll be the victors in a win-lose drama of epic quality.  They’ve become so absorbed and proud of their role that they don’t feel their own misery.  They have no compassion for those who will lose.

They’ve lost access to their True Self and can’t see beyond the set.  Some people escape but find another role without first becoming free of the old one.  “I’ll take this role where I get to ascend to the stars.  Or I’ll join this religion where I get to live as a monk and not work in a job I hate everyday.”  They’re making a lateral move within the illusion.  They aren’t getting free.  This creates conflicting roles in their mind.

 

Hollywood

The answer is in Hollywood.  We’re all actors.  We take a part in a marriage, culture, religion, business, or political group; and when we’ve had enough, we should simply let go and drop the role without guilt, shame, or fear of judgment.  We’d return to home base — our True Self.

If we want a different role, we first clear out the old role.  We can’t play Forest Gump if we’re still playing Idi Amin.  Once we’ve broken free of old roles, we’re back to zero again.  We’ll choose new roles and only play characters in stories that we love.  We’ll make sure we trust our director.  Or we’ll write our own story.

But what about those collective dramas that have unhappy endings like Monsanto, Armageddon, or businesses that harm the earth.  This answer is on Broadway.  How many actors does a play have to lose before the show can’t go on?  We’re those actors; we can drop our roles and eventually bring down the production.

Storytelling or History: What’s the Difference?

Footprints in the Sand

By Cathy Eck

 

Storytelling Versus History

I enjoy stories very much.  I love to read them, to write them, and to watch them on the big screen.  But I don’t like history at all.  History is usually presented by the winners; it’s masculine-dominant (his story, not her story) and fact driven, not character driven.  In short, it’s food for the intellect, the false self.

The difference between storytelling and history has become blurred in people’s minds because our educational systems emphasize history over storytelling.  We can learn a lot by studying the difference between storytelling and history.

If we want to write a story, we first develop characters and maybe a plot or a story idea.  We give the characters a false-self perspective, including a back story, preferences, and beliefs.  Then we turn the characters loose and let them interact.  If the characters don’t like the results they’re getting, they’ll hopefully have a change of mind.  If the characters don’t change their mind, the story eventually becomes predictable and boring.  If the characters don’t grow, viewers will stop feeling sympathy for their troubles.

We see these things clearly on the big screen, but often ignore them in our own lives.  Suffering isn’t natural; it’s the consequence of being unwilling to expand our perspective and grow.  Suffering comes from holding on to what we no longer need.  Mental hoarding, just like physical hoarding, is destructive.

 

Life is Storytelling

We’re all living a potentially great story whether we know it or not.  Two decades ago, the Story of “The Legend spontaneously popped out of my unconscious.  That began my exploration into the nature of storytelling.  I could see that “The Legend” was like an undercurrent in my life.  Fairy tales, myths, and religious stories sit in our unconscious as causal forces in our life.  This is why religions and cultures are built on a foundation of storytelling.  We’re controlled by the stories we hold in mind as true.  If we share a common foundation of story with another, we’ll have similar beliefs and see the world through homogeneous eyes.

Modern video games take storytelling to a new level.  I used to watch my children play them, moving from level to level.  If their character screwed up, they’d say, “Oh, I died.”  They’d restart the game.  I felt as though I was watching a miniature version of life.  You either make it to the next level in your storyline, or you die.  The difference is that the gamer realizes he’s responsible for his fate.

 

His Story

History is literal.  There’s no room for individuality or interpretation.  It’s simply the reporting of facts — names, dates, and physical events.  History is always one-sided; usually the winners write history.  As we’ve become more left-brained or intellectual, we’ve forgotten the cause and effect relationship in life.  We fail to consider that every event has a belief-related cause behind it.  We accept the winner’s false-self projection that their enemy is evil and deserving of punishment.

Today, people share their personal stories in historical form.  They think they’re storytelling, but they aren’t.  Great stories allow for change; and great storytellers allow their characters to transform.  People have labeled the oldest stories mythology because they find so many versions of the old stories.  Old stories changed as the characters changed.  History put an end to that; history keeps us stuck within a false, collective mindset.

 

The Key

The true storyteller knew that he created every single character, even the evil ones.  The historian only identifies with one character — the one they label good or right.  

The historian acts as if he or she is either a hero or victim.  They’re telling the story to get sympathy, attention, or approval.  If they get such rewards, they’ll continue to tell the story to keep it alive.

Often we get stuck in another person’s story; we feel like we can’t get free.  We feel bad if we expose another as cause in their drama because we’ve been trained to feel guilty for revealing the cause of history.  We aren’t supposed to point out that the Emperor is naked.

 

Freedom

Freedom requires owning all the characters in our story and seeing that they fit together like a puzzle.  The victim and perpetrator/hero are opposites who have divided thought in the same way (see the triangle process); and the evil that the hero fights is simply his or her shadow.

The psychologist Fritz Perls popularized Gestalt therapy.  Perls studied people’s dreams.  He required them to see themselves as every character and even every essential item in the dream.  In this way, they could step back and see their whole mind; they could see themselves as cause.  When we see our whole mind, we see the mental cause of our problems.  Then we can change our mind more easily.

 

We’re All Storytelling

Many have said that we’re all storytelling.  We invent a story; then ideally we direct, produce, and star in it.  But when we don’t own our mind, we just play a walk-on part in someone else’s drama.  When we follow the false mind (which we acquired from others) over our heart (True Self), our own story remains unlived and untold.  We don’t grow or change.  Life becomes boring, and we feel without purpose.

This happens when we accept masculine and feminine roles; and we place ourselves in a feminine role to another.  Dropping roles that don’t bring us joy is key to returning to our own original story.

Screenwriters say that the audience wants an inciting incident (usually a fall of sorts) in the first ten minutes.  From the perspective of story, we plan our fall into the illusion.  You probably lived that part of your story.  But what happened after that.  Did you learn?  Did you grow?  Did you change?  Did you let go of your “evil” shadow?  Did you love?  That’s what makes a story great.  And most important, did you get that precious and rare happily ever after?