The Never Ending Story by Barbara St. James

Have you ever felt that your life was like a cheap novel? Like a Nancy Drew book, where, after one story was told and you thought that was the end of it, you find the author has just spit out another one, and as soon as you finish that one, a new story comes along. But you never find the author in the book. The author never reveals him- or herself, always remaining outside the book.

The mind is like that. After many stories, the little character in the mind says, “I need to be enlightened. I need to find the source. I need to find God. I need to be liberated. I need to be beyond life and death.” And then at some point it realizes, “Oh, that’s a story!” Then it wonders, “Who am I without the story?”

So you put down this book called My Life. And you discover that without the stories, there is no “me.” The “me” itself is a story. The whole story springs spontaneously out of nothing, out of spirit, purely for its own enjoyment. It exists for you to read it—to laugh a little, cry a little, have ups, have downs, have lives, have deaths, have friends, have enemies—but never to be taken seriously.

Read it and weep, or read it and laugh. The stories may never end, but you don’t have to buy them!