Language — words and phrases — we are such a clever species. With the addition of ‘ness’ (something within us knew we had to invent that one) we turn adjectives into nouns, or we try to. We take attributes, qualities, seeming conditions, and flip them on their backs to rub their tummies as something definable, something factual, real.
‘Ness’ is well-worn in the spiritual world, so much so, it closely resembles a worn-out sock. Slap ness on the back end of anything that isn’t knowable … which is everything … and there you have it, voila, not just knowable, but a thing.
Happy-ness, sad-ness, joyful-ness, is-ness, ill-ness, of-ness, being-ness, godly-ness, oh my goodness and badness! Add that magic potion to any descriptor and it appears to create thingness — something that can be attained found fixed avoided managed had — only it doesn’t; it just appears to.
Those four little letters strung after the sensational, the fleeting feelings of a life, are part of the maze of longing, the come-hither spell of the earth dance, the hope for a better illusion, a more rewarding dream, a higher billed character, a life as you’d wish it to be.
‘Ness’ is the illusion. Maybe that’s why they call Nessie the Loch Ness Monster. Tacking ‘ness’ onto a wee bit of folklore, or a feeling, a sensation, doesn’t mean you can catch it or put it in a bottle, that you can pour an idea into cups and start your own franchise, and yet we humans do it with nearly every breath, with every thing we chase after, with every stake we place in the ground, with every trauma we dissect, with every attempt to heal that which was never real in the way we think.
Whether we add ‘ness’ our personal formula or not, it is there, the valiant attempt to turn nothing into something, to make nothing a noun when all of life is a verb. And yet … this is not nothing. It’s also not something. Granting noun-ship … oops, there’s another suffix; it makes a noun into a different noun, layering the deception — didn’t I say we are clever … attaching it to any word doesn’t change what’s actual. It does however, muddy the mental waters sufficiently to maintain the illusion.
Gosh … if I was a conspiracy theorist, I’d think the language deities were a bit tipsy, or too darn happy being deified.
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. That said with a giggle, check out Amaya’s new book – Actuality: infinity at play, available in paperback and e-book at Amazon.