Life is an interactive simulation with a gazillion options. Do you want to play out the life of a successful businessperson? Yay. How about mister or miss popularity? Hoorah. Maybe a pilgrim on the spiritual path fits or even one who awakens. Are you playing the role of victim, the one who everyone abuses? Does the role of mystical healer feel right, or perhaps an inmate despised and imprisoned? Maybe you are here to save the animals, humanity, or a crusader for the planet. Maybe your niche is politics, garnering power, or sitting on the couch watching the world burn.
Whatever it is, you can be certain that you are already in the sim, playing your role. Could you be anything other than who you are? Are you not pointed at the target, quiver of arrows on your back, the moment you are born? Does life not feed and nurture you with the perfect experiences to ensure the arrow flies straight to its mark?
The only thing that makes that feel inaccurate – wrong, wrong, wrong – is that you have a different idea in your head as to what you’d like your path to be. But it isn’t different, is it?
I lived in a home with little expression. I watched as my mother remained quiet, almost timid, or spoke with one of those looks alone. You know the look. That’s what I saw, how I perceived her. My friends saw something else because we each see what we expect to see, what we believe and that’s a combo of our experiences to date, including the karmic field we came out of.
We either accept our experience as the way it is and in our own way emulate it, or we don’t. That too, is part of the programming, an arrow in the quiver. My design was to fight back, so naturally I became the great debater to my father’s great dismay and surprisingly, unspoken approval. Expression was my imperative, but it didn’t come to fruition until I lived through the traumas of being silenced time and time again, of silencing myself to stay under the radar, to play it safe. I played out the role my mother showed me so many years before until I finally emptied the mold.
It is impossible to not be who I am today. Life makes sure of that. It points us on our path and narrows the road so that the only option left is straight ahead. I took the business road, walked the path of a wife for life, sailed away from my life to exotic ports, did time as a prison volunteer, and tread oh so many other tracks until they each ran into a dead end, a new beginning, life’s twist that turns and breaks the heart open further … further still … until at last it freed me of the idea of me.
Each step along the zig zag road added to the accumulating pile of golden words, subtracting bits of flesh from the diminishing sense of self … seems paradoxical but it isn’t, for the words were no longer mine. The more they were not, the easier they flowed, until writing simply was and the entire universe of words was at my disposal.
The path is simply where we seem to be, a snapshot in time, a moment’s glance as we peek at the screen of life. It is not who we are. If so, I’d be a businesswoman, a sailor, a wife … and I am none of those, and yet this shimmer of love is imbued with those lessons, those experiences, both joyful and painful, and it adds a depth of compassion that could not have been found otherwise.
I was always enamored of the word, the words I didn’t speak that went around and around in my head, that kept me awake and stirred my soul. That was part of the birthing process. Writing, journaling, and dark poetry were my friends. They placed an arm around me and held me close. They let me spill out my heart and met me with a quiet unconditional love, giving me a taste of what I wanted to give others, what I knew I was here to do but had no knowing of how.
Life’s experiences took aliveness and transformed a raw idea, a sense of something more, a morphing shape and form, and brought it to ground, crafting a suitable vessel for its message.
The path … wherever you find yourself right now … wherever you’ve found yourself before … is a proving ground, life proving to you that it can be trusted, that you can trust yourself, that you can trust the aliveness that you are.
It’s never done, not even once you appear to be but the stuff of legends. The legend lives on.
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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