Rooted

Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you believe it.

The other day, as I was doing laundry, a thought came to me that I clearly and completely recognized as not mine. (And down came the blackbird and snatched off her nose.) I knew, and know, absolutely that the thought was foreign to my belief system, and I marveled at it. Whose thought was it? Why was it my mind? What purpose was there in my thinking it?

If anything, it’s a relief to me. My heart knows the truth. My mind does not know the truth. My mind is not me. My heart is me.

So suddenly thoughts begin to lose their power. And I Am grateful.

And curious.

What are thoughts? Where do they come from?

I desire thoughts that resonate with MY HEART. Those are the thoughts I will celebrate and fuel and expound upon.

I am not going to take responsibility for every thought that enters my mind. That one thought was so anti-Karen, anti-love, that it hammered home to me the ridiculousness of thinking as defining oneself. I Am not my thoughts.

And if humanity’s thoughts insist on running through my brain, I have a choice on whether or not I will incubate that thought or expel it. Thoughts aren’t tangible, but they become so when given time and energy.

So, no more time and energy to what does not resonate with my heart. I declare it. Come as you will thought—I will not shame you, nor will I propagate you. You may wisp along as you will, but don’t expect purchase here. My heart is rooted in love, not thoughts.

So mote it be, and so it is.