continuation chapter one 1.2
The way you feel about life reveals the view of life you are actually holding—not the one you think you should hold, not the one you recite on Sunday morning with your eyes closed and your hands slightly raised, but the real one, the operating system quietly running in the background. You cannot have a feeling without a corresponding idea, any more than you can have the crest of a wave without the trough. They arise mutually, inseparably, like a pair of twins who finish each other's sentences.
So you see, you cannot defeat the so-called evil inside you by attacking your emotions directly, as if they were the original enemy. That is like trying to calm rough water by flattening it with a hot iron. You'll only produce a great deal of steam, a terrible hissing sound, and the water will remain exactly as choppy as before, only now it's also slightly offended. The war is never with the feeling. The feeling is just the obedient butler, the loyal servant, who comes to the door and announces, "Sir, a message has arrived from the estate of your beliefs." The war is with what you know—or rather, what you think you know, which is a very different animal altogether. You don't have to wrestle the butler to the ground, tear the telegram from his hands, and set it on fire while screaming Bible verses. You have to question the master of the house who keeps sending such dreary telegrams in the first place. And the Master of the house you want is the Truth, who said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32). Free. Not exhausted. Not on a performance improvement plan. Free.
Shift the falsehood in your understanding—replace that rickety old lie with a clearer, truer seeing—and the feeling will change all by itself, as effortlessly as water flows into a new vessel, taking its shape without a single complaint. The transformation is automatic, because you are not a machine that must be hammered into shape with the mallet of self-discipline. You are a process, a flowing, a living stream that bubbles up from whatever truth you are actually rooted in. So stop wrestling with the ghost, poor thing, and question the assumption that gave it breath. Stop exorcising the shadow and turn on the light. The light doesn't fight the darkness; it simply doesn't feed it. And when you see this, really see it, you won't need to strive to feel holy. You'll just be too busy laughing at the whole wonderful, preposterous setup to feel anything else. You’ll be the one at the burial, tears on your cheeks maybe, but a deep, unshakable chuckle in your spirit because you’ve seen the punchline: Christ is risen, the joke is on death, and you’ve been invited to the after-party.
The way you feel about life reveals the view of life you are actually holding—not the one you think you should hold, not the one you recite on Sunday morning with your eyes closed and your hands slightly raised, but the real one, the operating system quietly running in the background. You cannot have a feeling without a corresponding idea, any more than you can have the crest of a wave without the trough. They arise mutually, inseparably, like a pair of twins who finish each other's sentences.
So you see, you cannot defeat the so-called evil inside you by attacking your emotions directly, as if they were the original enemy. That is like trying to calm rough water by flattening it with a hot iron. You'll only produce a great deal of steam, a terrible hissing sound, and the water will remain exactly as choppy as before, only now it's also slightly offended. The war is never with the feeling. The feeling is just the obedient butler, the loyal servant, who comes to the door and announces, "Sir, a message has arrived from the estate of your beliefs." The war is with what you know—or rather, what you think you know, which is a very different animal altogether. You don't have to wrestle the butler to the ground, tear the telegram from his hands, and set it on fire while screaming Bible verses. You have to question the master of the house who keeps sending such dreary telegrams in the first place. And the Master of the house you want is the Truth, who said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32). Free. Not exhausted. Not on a performance improvement plan. Free.
Shift the falsehood in your understanding—replace that rickety old lie with a clearer, truer seeing—and the feeling will change all by itself, as effortlessly as water flows into a new vessel, taking its shape without a single complaint. The transformation is automatic, because you are not a machine that must be hammered into shape with the mallet of self-discipline. You are a process, a flowing, a living stream that bubbles up from whatever truth you are actually rooted in. So stop wrestling with the ghost, poor thing, and question the assumption that gave it breath. Stop exorcising the shadow and turn on the light. The light doesn't fight the darkness; it simply doesn't feed it. And when you see this, really see it, you won't need to strive to feel holy. You'll just be too busy laughing at the whole wonderful, preposterous setup to feel anything else. You’ll be the one at the burial, tears on your cheeks maybe, but a deep, unshakable chuckle in your spirit because you’ve seen the punchline: Christ is risen, the joke is on death, and you’ve been invited to the after-party.
continuation chapter one 1.2
The way you feel about life reveals the view of life you are actually holding—not the one you think you should hold, not the one you recite on Sunday morning with your eyes closed and your hands slightly raised, but the real one, the operating system quietly running in the background. You cannot have a feeling without a corresponding idea, any more than you can have the crest of a wave without the trough. They arise mutually, inseparably, like a pair of twins who finish each other's sentences.
So you see, you cannot defeat the so-called evil inside you by attacking your emotions directly, as if they were the original enemy. That is like trying to calm rough water by flattening it with a hot iron. You'll only produce a great deal of steam, a terrible hissing sound, and the water will remain exactly as choppy as before, only now it's also slightly offended. The war is never with the feeling. The feeling is just the obedient butler, the loyal servant, who comes to the door and announces, "Sir, a message has arrived from the estate of your beliefs." The war is with what you know—or rather, what you think you know, which is a very different animal altogether. You don't have to wrestle the butler to the ground, tear the telegram from his hands, and set it on fire while screaming Bible verses. You have to question the master of the house who keeps sending such dreary telegrams in the first place. And the Master of the house you want is the Truth, who said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32). Free. Not exhausted. Not on a performance improvement plan. Free.
Shift the falsehood in your understanding—replace that rickety old lie with a clearer, truer seeing—and the feeling will change all by itself, as effortlessly as water flows into a new vessel, taking its shape without a single complaint. The transformation is automatic, because you are not a machine that must be hammered into shape with the mallet of self-discipline. You are a process, a flowing, a living stream that bubbles up from whatever truth you are actually rooted in. So stop wrestling with the ghost, poor thing, and question the assumption that gave it breath. Stop exorcising the shadow and turn on the light. The light doesn't fight the darkness; it simply doesn't feed it. And when you see this, really see it, you won't need to strive to feel holy. You'll just be too busy laughing at the whole wonderful, preposterous setup to feel anything else. You’ll be the one at the burial, tears on your cheeks maybe, but a deep, unshakable chuckle in your spirit because you’ve seen the punchline: Christ is risen, the joke is on death, and you’ve been invited to the after-party.
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