Morals, Complexities & Truth

This information might upset you, but I don't subscribe to good or bad—no right or wrong nonsense, either.

I'm aware many of you will disagree. My neighbor, whom I respect and deeply admire, is a theologian who says, "But, Ashley, what about morally wrong, criminally bad?"

Morality, conviction, insubordination, happiness, sadness, indifference—it's all remarkably subjective.

Hear me out, everyone:

I grew up hearing that laws are in place to keep the peace. (Yeah, how's that working out, masters of authoritative command?)

Conversely, I grew up with a maternal voice whispering that rules exist to be bent—not broken, just slightly bent—for survival's sake.

I understand both perspectives, considering mitigating factors and human conditioning. Yet, I am not naive enough to forget that some other human, circumstantially more original than I am, made up those rules and laws. Their skepticism decided the difference between wrong and right—it seems like bullshit to me.

Enter collective consciousness, which refers to society's shared beliefs, attitudes, and knowledge. Here we are, a species of autonomous and unique creatures, neck-deep in a complex mass of faithful servitude and conviction (solely because someone dictated their outline for living and subsequently influenced our behaviors).

Forget that!

This doesn't mean I navigate this physical vessel without a moral compass. I have a set of personal principles and values that guide my decisions and actions. However, it likely doesn't resemble yours. Maybe it does—if it does, can I meet your mom for coffee?

Putting aside my irreverent humor and individual skepticism, I spent the first thirty years of my life questioning the sincerity of everyone but myself. This led to a superiority complex and a reckless attitude, frequently resulting in legal fees and caged confinement.

Then, one day, I stopped questioning what I believed was true based on no absolutes. I disregarded what I learned from generational influences and societal expectations. I considered that if their way wasn't the only way, my way wasn't the only way.

That day, someone diligently practicing open-mindedness, likely not constrained by degrees listed on their office wall, burst my two-sides-to-every-story bubble and told me directly, "No, there are three sides."

My truth, your truth, and the truth: the first two are opinion-based, while the latter is rooted in hard facts, nee hypothesis.

At that moment, I experienced what I can best describe as a spiritual awakening. I intuitively understood that the idea of moral dichotomy, which I had heard throughout my formative years, was far too complex to be verified as absolute and was, in fact, grossly subjective.

Embracing subjectivity, I found empowerment and independence, realizing we are all unique variables in the grand equation of morality.

I had to outline it all first, of course, inviting Greek philosophy, questioning organized religion, and contemplating the idea that political power is akin to the mafia—just as disgusting and arbitrary.

Accepting that I may never entirely figure this out, I've come to understand that the goalposts of morality are in constant motion. The only guarantee in life is that it ends in death, and we must adapt to the ever-changing landscape of morals.

There are no winners, losers, sinners, or saints—just lessons, should we embrace them. And if we don't? Well, the path can become a steep incline, rocky terrain—a chaotic journey of life happening to me rather than for me.

Take it from someone who spent over half of her life in a dismal victim mentality, which nearly destroyed me before I witnessed the miracle of change; that mentality is a hellscape to live in.

In substance abuse recovery circles, there's a well-known recipe for peace, and it isn't taught in Sunday nor graduate school, albeit it probably should:

"Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I cannot find serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as it is at this moment."

We are what we believe. Good and evil, like light and dark, cannot exist without intersecting, and positive and negative aren't character traits but subatomic energies in a simultaneous feedback loop—only dualistic until we embrace a middle ground. Welcome to the gray area! Hello, neutral; we thought we lost you!

So, the key to the orderly direction our human programming defaults, dissects, dismantles and neurally depends upon is whether we are aligned or misaligned—in alignment with what exactly, though, and how does one know the difference?

The first step is reconciling a balance between my truth and the truth. This universal truth isn't tangible; it's a frequency. Like a finely tuned C#, it is resonantly monotonic—sans vibrato—strummed or hammered, the sonic remains the same. Whether the note is tonally pleasing to my ears or if I find it uncomfortable to hear, it's a C#.

Once we accept that we only see what we believe and everything is unfolding as it should, identifying what we want is a simple (not easy) process which, once I began vibrating at the frequency of truth, felt smooth as a dolphin on a waterslide. Funny enough, my father—the heritage of witty zingers like that—was the first to teach me about The Dao's Wu-Wei, which he likened to a Flow State—energy in motion.

Ride the wave. Life is road mileage, and vehicle maintenance is mandatory for optimal performance. Just as we take the car for an alignment when something feels unbalanced and how a cyclist enlists a bike professional to TRUE his wonky wheels, we all need a tune-up now and again, regardless of the make and model of the body carrying us around town.