I can’t imagine how difficult being in the world is for anyone who puts their faith in its reality. It has got to be disheartening, not to mention full of anxiety. Fear festers barely beneath the surface, awaiting its moment to break out. Labeling it, seeing it as other than ourselves, as over there, wrapping it in the news of the day, won’t work forever.
I wonder if it’s always been that way and I missed seeing it when I was in the throes of its mesmerizing sway. Probably so. It’s nearly impossible to see clearly from within fear. It tends to blind us to what’s really going on, obscuring the workings of the appearance as well as the actuality that is infinite aliveness.
It must have felt the same living in Europe during World War I and then sensing, feeling, dreading the approach of WWII. The war to end all wars was not the end, nor was its successor.
Did generations past have deep fears about the world ending, or just about their world ending, about bombs dropping and wiping out their worlds, or the big one dominoing into the end of all civilization? It’s fascinating to poke about in wonder, musing about the whys and hows, the ifs and maybes.
I remember Dad talking about bomb shelters in the 60s and staring at the hill in the backyard, wondering how he would put a metal box in the ground. Our teachers put us through the dumb desk drills, as if hiding under a desk would do anything in the event of a nuclear bomb.
They’d have been better off teaching us to bend over and kiss our collective ass goodbye … no, really … teaching us to be with the uncertainty would have had value, as it still does today.
If our world is teaching us anything, it’s that. There are no guarantees. Keeping quiet, behaving, conforming in order to hold onto the status quo may not be possible much longer. For many, it already isn’t. All those things we do to keep ourselves safe are not working. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore, but it seems that’s what we are good at.
The seas are warming. The skies are warming. The world is warming. Crops are failing. Agreements are breaking. There’s a reason much of the US wants authoritarianism, whether they realize that is what they are asking for or not. Folks want Daddy to take over, the savior to appear, to tell them what to do, regardless of how bad Daddy is. They survived bad daddy, but something within fears they won’t survive this, whatever this is.
Uncertainty, unmet, does strange things to people.
Uncertainty, met, opens the body, mind and soul, regardless of external appearances, to the peace that passeth understanding.
Yeah … they would have done us a service to teach the bend over and kiss it goodbye version of duck and cover, but alas, they didn’t.
So, I guess we’ll have to do it ourselves.
As we meet the uncertainty, now or when we have no choice, we invite others to do so too. We show them that it’s okay, that it won’t kill us, that we can be here with what is, as what is, independent of how the world looks. Peace spreads more peace. We are not two. As we meet the uncertainty, the peace within ripples out.
As long as we are here, we might as well relax and enjoy the ride. Front row seats to such extreme events, to so completely out of sync dissonance, aren’t included all that often in the lifetime ticket.
There is no certainty. There never was. Life as we know it may end … in fact it is pretty much guaranteed. If this particular inharmonious experience doesn’t get us, another one will. The only certainty there is in this material world is uncertainty.
Meet the uncertainty. Embrace it. Let it roar through your nervous system and see what happens. That’s being truly alive. Live now. Let aliveness pour through you into the world.
Say what you want to say but fear to say. Stand up while you can. Do what you are called to do. Meet the moment. Ripple peace.
Image Photographer: unknown
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.