A friend recently responded to one of my posts with an in-depth statement about it being fatalism, that without choice we wouldn’t do what we need to do, couldn’t change what needs to be changed (very much a paraphrase) and if that was the case, why bother to write at all. I thought you might be interested in what I wrote back.
Rather than fatalism, for me at least, what I write is an attempt to point to a much more uncomfortable uncontainable inconceivability. Unfortunately, even though right here, right now, the actuality is in plain sight, it is concealed by what is thought and believed to be true.
To see it clearly, we have to be willing to not know.
I have looked for free will, for true choice, for most of my life and have never found it. I think that is because, as I was shown several years ago, it is one of the mirages of life … all of life is a mirage so it is in good company. Why should choice be real when nothing else is?
Now … I realize that taking the time to write this will pretty much be a guaranteed bust, but that would assume I could choose to not write, to not allude to something other than what most humans take for reality. If I could, I would, but it seems I can’t, so it looks like I won’t. 😉
There is an assumption of choice in your words … perhaps assumption is too weak, eh … but I love the benefit of the doubt … that in a space of no choice I could choose not to write and that you could as well, and that others (haha … love that word too) could choose not to read. We’ve entered the theater of the absurd.
I absolutely grant that it appears like choice is in play all around. I point you back to the mirage. It is hard to see the mirage of choice from within the mirage of life, possible but difficult, especially so when subscribing to the mirage.
I appreciate what you say. I get the love behind it, the caring and compassion. I most likely will act in a similar fashion since my model of the world seems to be all-in on love. I just can’t keep supporting the BS that we are limited beings, born to die, making bad choices that have the potential to kill us and others when it is the mother of all mirages.
If we empty enough to see through our beliefs, to see what is actually here, perhaps that would induce a shift in behavior. I know I am more loving, honest, unwilling to dishonor myself, my world, and those who appear to be others now that I no longer beat myself mercilessly for my errors. It seems seeing what is might just be a better solution than the eons of apparent choices dredged in right and wrong that have brought us to this moment.
The choices, or what appears to be choice, will continue to be made. Change is assured. Love ultimately wins — perhaps it won’t look like it in our lifetime, or even the next, perhaps it will — regardless, love is the given.
Love wants to be discovered, to return to itself. There is no time, so there is no hurry. The game is afoot.
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.
