Nothing I say will get you there. There is no there; no you to get there and yet as in all of life, there is the very valid, exceedingly real, preciously potent appearance of a there and a you and the you who appears to be, appears to want to get to the appearance of there.
Everything I say will automatically come out wrong. Words are dualistic in nature and minds hear through their current best understanding so even if words were gate keepers it still wouldn’t matter until they aligned exactly with the trajectory of the appearing called you.
I could tell you to be still, to shift the focus to that which is aware, to notice when hope or fear are present, to relax and simply be, to … good lord! …. an infinite bevy of tactics, and none of them will get you there if there is not yours to get just yet.
Do I, or those apparent others, do you a disservice pointing, when pointing appears? I’ve wondered and yet, no one points. THIS points through its expressions. If this appearance called me could stop, she might, how would I know, but she can’t.
Like any character in a play, the action is set, not destiny set, not coerced, compelled, forced, but written by life’s experiences, informed by what came before, exuded from the mold of the character’s doing, thinking, perceiving. How I see the world determines how I see the world. A pacifist doesn’t suddenly become a hawk, nor a hawk a pacifist, without a new, perhaps many new experiences, informing the shift.
We do what we do, so I write. We cannot not do what we do.
Words may not be accurate but they’re all we have, that and moments of silence, of deep reason-less connection. They may be good for nothing, nothing but pointing and never to This which is nothing that can be pointed to, but they seem to be a part of the full equation.
Maybe it’s like advertising. We have to see an ad at least seven times before we make our purchase Only this is you promoting you, This touting This, softening up your receptors, massaging your willingness, reeling you in for the sale.
In the words of Hafiz: We should make all spiritual talk simple today: God is trying to sell you something, But you don’t want to buy. That is what your suffering is: Your fantastic haggling, Your manic screaming over the price!
You know the price. It’s been clearly marked all the time. The release of just one staunchly held belief: control of power, the power to control — that which holds Humpty Dumpty together.
Until that drops — and you will never drop it; you can’t — it’s all words.
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. www.amayagayle.com