Magical Mystery Tour

By Amaya Gayle Gregory

How angry are you? Do you know, or do you unwittingly give it its head and follow where it takes you? It is impossible not to be angry when you believe you are a separate self, living in a world of duality. How could you not be? In that model, the consensus reality model, half of life is against you. 

Your heart desires happiness in a world laced in unescapable sadness, despair, and sorrow. You can run from it, but you cannot find the lasting happiness you seek. 

At war with yourself, you search for peace amidst the surety of your unworthiness. There is no lasting peace for the separate self; you are separate from the peace you crave.   

You instinctively want to live and yet, death stares you in the face, counting down your days. You ignore it, but it doesn’t work. It doesn’t change the fact of your imminent demise. 

Duality. Separation. The fallacy of fallacies.  

How can adding more resistance – the search, the denial, the refusal to look – ever bring you happiness and peace?  Resistance is separation. The search is separation. The denial is separation. The refusal is separation.  Not real, actual factual separation, but the experiencing of the appearance, the seemingness, the guise of separation. 

What you are is not separate in any way. That is the true pull, the craving, the desire you feel — this you are reeling you in, pulling you back, setting the ache deep in your heart, inviting you to remember. It is all you. The desire is you. There is nothing but infinite aliveness and you are that. 

That’s what life is – the play of aliveness waking up to itself, the infinite sliding into limited expression and back again, mysteriously magical infinity loops of experiencing. 

You are the whole darn magical mystery tour. Settling on, settling into one character is grand – I get it. It is the experience of a lifetime. Man, oh man: the joy, the excitement, the dread, the love, the grief, the anxiety, the passion, the fear – adrenaline junkies all. Life is quite the ride.  

What’s interesting, and what you fear, is that waking up to the reality, the grandeur of the actuality, the stunning beauty of what you are, will somehow deaden the experience, that it won’t be quite the same, or perhaps even, that you aren’t up to it. 

You don’t need to be up to it any more than you need to be up to your current version. Life comes at you as it will, and you respond as you do. That doesn’t change. 

Deaden? Maybe when hell freezes over, a safe bet since hell doesn’t exist. 

Enliven, yes, in ways no separate self can imagine.  It won’t be quite the same. It’s more like a funhouse than a house of horrors, a child’s playground ride than the adult’s serious work a day world. When you are ready for it, it will appear. It isn’t going anywhere.  

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. It’s actually much better than we can imagine. 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 … and she is. Love a paradox and life is nothing, if not paradoxical. 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.