Yesterday I had a stressful day. It was a bitch, and this little body of mine reacted strongly. It was fascinating to watch it without needing to change it, and just let it run its course … to hear myself let loose a scream, to feel the pressure building within and not be able to stop it, to not even try.
Not surprisingly, not trying was the only part of yesterday’s excursion into the nether regions, into the long-held and evidently not so perfectly stuffed karma, that seemed to ease the load.
The body — well at least mine — has tended to hold onto its trauma like a stealthy panther waiting to pounce when its prey comes close, only in my case, the prey for the trauma was a buildup of stressful situations. Not just one or two … but a full load, everyday experiences of work off schedule, of breakdowns and setbacks, of physical things falling apart and needing to be put back together again.
The trigger appears to be different for everyone. I don’t know if there are people who don’t react to life’s overload. That’s the dream of the seeker. I no longer seek, so I no longer have that dream. I abdicated my position as fix-it person a while back so I don’t need or want to be fixed.
I write not for insight into my body’s plight, or greater understanding of why it is so. This is not a plea to be fixed. It is a simple sharing that regardless of what you’ve realized, life still messes with you. It can’t but demonstrate the inner blueprint — the personal and collective karma — the two that are not two.
It does not testify to your realization, or lack thereof. It simply is life doing what it does, life-ing.
When we aren’t stuffing in more, all the energy of frustration and hurt, anger and confusion, that has been imprisoned within throughout our lives comes out, pours through like water rushing down a river as the snow melts.
Bad news … it doesn’t just magically disappear.
Eventually it is felt, experienced, met directly or it continues to hide, creating little replicas of itself unbidden. It’s not actually unbidden though, because the unwillingness to feel it, to let it be as it is, bids it hang around and make a little mischief.
The karmic load is different for everyone … what triggers one, hardly registers for another, and what triggers that one sets off a tsunami of surrender for yet another. No one is better or worse. No one needs to fix their reaction. No one is a master or a student.
Life does what it does. My reaction is simply that … a reaction, nothing more, nothing less. It has no meaning unless I give it some … and thankfully, I am content to ride through the experience meaninglessly.
So what if it’s choppy. So what if it feels like hell. So frickin’ what. Life isn’t always fun. It hits all the possibilities, invents new angles and if you deem to think you’re ahead of the game, to venture forth into the future or compare yourself to the past, it always has the last word.
I am grateful for that. How else would I see what I didn’t see … or finally address what I ever so slightly ignored? Life won’t let me be satisfied with anything at all … isn’t that grand!
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.