Courtroom of Smoke

Metaphorical Narrative

Imagine walking into a courtroom where the judge is a shadow, the jury is fog, and the prosecutor is just your own voice wearing a crooked wig.
Every word echoes like accusation. Every silence feels like evidence. The ego wants you to believe you’re on trial every waking second.

But then you stop, take a breath, and realize: the gavel is plastic, the charges are smoke, and no one is really there.
You laugh. The whole courtroom dissolves into thin air with your exhale.

Core Insight

The ego loves to prepare “just-in-case” defences. It convinces you that if you don’t have a justification ready, you’ll be ambushed and exposed.
But this is a false trial. Nobody’s waiting with cross-examination questions.
The need to defend is itself the trap — a theatre built to keep you in fear.
Relief comes the moment you exhale and step out of that imaginary courthouse.

Saturday Experiment

1. Notice the next time your mind starts drafting a defence before anyone has accused you.
2. Pause and take one deep exhale — slow and full, like blowing out smoke.
3. Say softly, “Case dismissed.” Smile. Walk away from the courtroom in your head.

Sunday Reflection

• If the trial was only smoke, who was I trying to convince?
• How does my body feel when I exhale instead of defend?
• What would it mean to live as if there is no jury watching me at all?