For the bodymind, what could be more important than love? Could anything possibly rise above this our greatest desire, the desire to love and to be loved, to raise the strongly reinforced barriers we have constructed and yield the I, to allow ourselves to be in union, to relinquish the sense of separation?
It’s actually rather strange how being loved absolutely, letting go and simply loving regardless of return, is also our greatest fear, bigger than the fear of death.
Something within us knows if we allow ourselves to immolate in the fire of full surrender, the price will be death. It’s not what we think, but there’s no way to know for sure until we are nothing but ash … well, not even that.
We desperately crave love, while putting up big thick walls between it and our hearts. Our bodies ache for it, for the full release, not just an orgasm, delightful as they may be, but for the all-in, no way back letting go, the absolute and utter abandonment of the need to protect one’s autonomy, to free fall into the vat of unconditional love without trying to swim back to the top.
We all carry our past with us. It’s stuffed in the backpack of mind and convulses the nervous system like a Christmas tree lit up with bulbs in every shade of trauma. The idea of trusting another, let alone life so completely, is paralyzing,
So there we sit, between the proverbial rock and a hard place, wanting love but deathly afraid of giving the love we want.
That’s a rather large hiccough. We can only experience love to the degree that we love, that we are willing to love, to risk, to let down our walls. Love begets love; fear begets fearful experience and ripples into more fear. Love opens into more love, regardless of the apparent outcome, because what we are adding to the experiential field, to life is not more fear, but our loving.
We are afraid to love, afraid of full surrender, but unconditional love isn’t self-sacrifice. That’s a fear-based version of love. Genuine love is often misunderstood, especially by those of us who need love, who in our desperation, wrapped in the cocoon of trauma, are afraid of being real, of saying how we feel and sharing what we think. We have defined love, and its risks, from a position in fear.
Resonating in fear, even when we try to pass it off as love, we live in a world of shoulds, of remaining silent and biting our tongues, and putting up with fear loosely disguised as love. From that understanding, out of our unwillingness to love fully, we get so much less than we deserve.
Unconditional love includes the whole, and the whole includes you and me, and the world. It includes life as it is appearing right now, not how you hope it will be if life changes, or you can learn to do things just right.
If we all understood that, there would be no way for abuse of any kind to continue. There’d simply be no takers. The fear is actually not fear of the other, but fear of ourselves, of our true willingness and capacity to say no, to say this doesn’t feel right to me, and to talk about it openly, or when it feels accurate, to walk away. Talking, walking, that’s love too.
Not accepting less than love, being unwilling to participate in the old school, status quo storyline, stopping the spread of fear right where you are is love, is loving and when you come from love it deflates the fear energy, allowing what needs to be to occur in a non-threatening vibe, in love’s embrace, even when it seems like an ending instead of a beginning.
Love isn’t what we think it is. It’s what we wholly desire, what we ache for in every cell, but it’s not simply relational, unless that relationship is with life, its ebbs and its flow, and it’s definitely not transactional. Paradoxically, it’s not about getting anything and yet, it gives everything.
The Lover is the Beloved, is loved, is the loving itself … and that’s the ache, the desire, and its own fulfillment. If you understand my words … just love. If you don’t … love anyway. There is nothing more meaningful to your humanness and worthy of who you really are.
There is no appropriate bio for Amaya Gayle. She doesn’t exist other than as an expression of Consciousness Itself. Talking about her in biographical terms is a disservice to the truth and to anyone who might be led to believe in such nonsense. None of us exist, not in the way we think. Ideas spring into words. Words flow onto paper and yet no one writes them. They simply appear fully formed. Looking at her you would swear this is a lie. She’s there after all, but honestly, she’s not. Bios normally wax on about accomplishments and beliefs, happenings in time and space. She has never accomplished anything, has no beliefs and like you was never born and will never die. Engage with Amaya at your own risk.