In March, I saw my father as he continued his steady decline towards death, and we had a moment when he told me he thought he hadn't been a good enough man. I disagreed with him; but he shook his head sadly and told me that I just didn't understand. By this time his perceptions were different and sometimes addled; and there was a humility and a quietness to him that he never had in earlier years. I felt a real emotion in him this time; he was on to something, as Betty Brown might have said.
I think I understand a bit better what he was saying now.
I have a perception of myself as good; at least, good enough. Yet this perception is flawed, because there is no "good enough" in me. It's not enough; that, above all, is my impression this morning of my supposed goodness.
My goodness is imaginary; I create it in my mind—that is, in parts with little force, honesty, or conviction—and then apply it like wallpaper over my life; very quickly, more often than not, so I won't have to spend too much time looking at the structural deficiencies of the wall itself.
And it is this inner structure that needs to be examined; this structure of intention. Intentions are the gate that all actions must pass through to manifest.