Real or not real? That is the question, and it seems to be much discussed these days. What is enlightenment? Listen to me … this is what it is. No … it’s not that, it’s this. If we can’t even agree on a definition of what it is, how in the world would we ever know if we made it? … and perhaps that’s the fun, and the point or the pointlessness. 😉 Maybe there is no definition and no way.
What if enlightenment is just another word? Maybe it is one of infinite alternatives and not a lot different from aspiring to be a serial killer, or a modern-day Houdini.
Not what you wanted to hear, now is it?
The serial killer is angry, scared, hurt, and wounded deeply. The world has abandoned him, and he can’t think of anything but seeing it burn, watching it die – at least the part of it mirroring the broken shards of his mind. Annihilating it, maybe, just maybe, will soothe the pain within. If one victim doesn’t do the trick, then another. Sometime during our serial killer’s life, something stood starkly outlined against the world’s horizon and shattered what was left of his willingness to be a part of it. He wanted out, and the only way he could see, was to kill it.
Houdini just wants to escape, while showing the world how awesome he is. He wants to get the hell off the merry-go-round, to step off the wheel of samsara, not to mention getting off it in style. He is an escape artist par excellence, or at least thinks he is. He lives in a world where ascending through the ranks of the ordinary into the extraordinary is critical to his next breath.
Do you see the parallels?
Humans are pretty predictable beings. It doesn’t really matter if we are planning to catch a ride into the clouds with the Rapture or hoping to ascend with the masters, whether we are working hard to overcome our shadow, to shift our consciousness or are totally absurdly oblivious to the possibilities spirituality offers, whether we are attempting to cleanly eat our way clear, are enthralled with saving the world, or are so far into self-negation that we are willing to literally kill the Buddha even though the Buddha is us.
They are the myriad possibilities of a lifetime in a body here in 3D land … and they are all illusions, very real illusions, precious beyond understanding, but not the entirety (is there such a thing?). They are a reflection of omnipresence, a display of absolute power, proof of infinite intelligence and absolutely inconceivable. No word, no concept or idea will ever come close.
Yes … some possibilities cause pain, wound those around us and ourselves, continuing the downward spiral into greater pain. Others heal, add salve to the wounds, appear to cause less pain, offering a window into the actuality and opening a rift through which we can see the game more clearly.
Interestingly, that doesn’t make one right and the other wrong. They are still what they are: roles to be played, lifetimes to be lived, the duality of material reality on display.
Making one way right and the other wrong, hoping to escape, to ascend, cutting out your mind piece by piece to appease the heart, denying your sexuality, flogging yourself with your unique choices, making your humanity or another’s wrong, isn’t wrong. It too, is part of the game.
Life is the guru. It shows us the insanity of all possibilities. Through our experience it reveals the illusion to be what it is, a playground where ultimately there is no harm or foul, even though the experience of it is anything but. It offers up the option – a choiceless choice – of choosing love over fear, of healing rather than continuing to rub salt into our wounds. It is life showing up, demonstrating its basic building block has never been anything but love.
Sometimes we need to walk into the darkness before we can allow the light. It seems we are more afraid of our light than our shadow. Without having tread in death’s footsteps, how would we truly appreciate life. Without the shades of many colors there is no picture, no world.
In showing us the beauty and the ugliness of this glorious manifestation, and the futility of fighting against it, life gives us exactly what we need to see what life really is, past what we have always believed to be true, to that which is unbelievable yet absolutely experienceable.
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.