A jackal fell into a vat of blue dye and emerged a colour no animal had seen. He declared himself a divine messenger and ruled the forest. All bowed — until one night distant jackals howled and his nature overcame him: he howled back. His disguise collapsed in an instant.
Borrowed authority built on a false identity is exhausting to maintain and catastrophic when it fails. The identity you inhabit must be one your reflexes can sustain under pressure and emotional flood.
Where are you performing a version of yourself that your instincts cannot sustain? What would it feel like to just be accurate?
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