Sedona, AZ — We could call it real, a hard and fast, life and death, matter of matter. That’s the easy one, the one that most everyone believes to be true, the one that resonates as real because it’s right in front of your eyes, such a given that it’s not worth the attempt to disprove. You’d have to be crazy to discount what you see, what you feel, what you know. You’d have to be willing to set aside all your programming and programming is programmed to keep you from doing that. Heck, that’s the point of programming.
If you look closer, down to the gnat’s ass closer, you might call it a simulation, but that asks the question, ‘Who created it and who is running the sim?’ Are you just a character in the sim or something else?
Some even call it a video game, but that too has its attenuated questions, like ‘Are you sitting somewhere with a joystick moving the characters around, putting the combatants through their paces across the gamescape? Are you really nor more than a brain in a bell jar?’ If that is what you are, is that all or are you something more? Can you be both the player and the played? What about the whole game, the entirety it encompasses, what’s that?
Or you could call it a dream, but that leaves the questions, ‘Who is the dreamer and what is the dreamed? It is just mind? Who’s mind? Is the dream only a dream while you sleep, sleeping as in a bed with a soft pillow or sleeping, asleep at the wheel of your life, caught in the dream unaware it’s a dream?’ Could life be a dream, just another illusion, another layer, a dream within a dream within a dream? Is there any end to the layers of dreaming? Maybe that’s what the mystics mean by dimensions … hmmm.
I’ve been known to call it a mirage, an illusion, an optical delusion, but that still begs the question, ‘Who’s aware of the shimmer, the energetic waves lifting up, shifting, morphing and what’s shimmering?’
Wherever you land it’s a hard landing, a landing filled with the pitfalls of unanswerable questions, of turtles lined up all the way down, down to a bottomless bottom. You can call it anything you want. If it matters, it really only matters to you.
It’s a game of perpetual motion, with ever-changing rules and scenery, impossible to pin down. Playing the game, we name it, claim it, and when something happens that feels off, we discard it and begin again. I could as easily call it hide ‘n seek, keep away, or whack-a-mole, depending on my storyline, the video game inputs, the simulation data points, the degree of inner heat and my response to it at the time. Any name fits. What’s in a name anyway? Saying it is one and not the others is like saying Sophia is only two round black holes that uncannily stare back at you, or that earth is just the 5 acres in my backyard.
I have found that life is filled with grace when I don’t feel the need to name or claim, when I simply see that we are all as we are, and rather than calling names and staking my claim, life moves me, life has its way. It always has anyway. Arguing with reality was never an argument I could win … and it’s easier to see and hear what else is possible, which parts of the puzzle I am missing, when I’m not pushing my point of view, my version of how life should be.
Editor’s Note: 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.
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