Thoughts tend to compare and contrast, to keep the current status quo, whatever that is, good or bad, in the frame. Watching them, it occurs to me that maybe that is their nature, the attraction of like and dissimilar, allies and opponents, comparison points that prove success or failure.
Lately, I’ve been noticing that as soon as the thought slides by that claims success — oh , I don’t do that anymore … or wow, this little body no longer has that problem — the reverse pops in to disavow the thought and the one doing it.
Life doesn’t seem to have any capacity for bullshit anymore. It has absolutely no willingness to feed the old delusions.
I — the avatar called Amaya — am life’s little sailboat. My sails are set but the mind still has its defined patterns of a ‘me’ being at the helm. I never did set the course or determine the wind’s direction, but by God … according to the thought patterns I was at the wheel.
Phantasm had a wheel not a rudder. I liked the more direct, turn in the direction you want to go wheel, better than the rudder which didn’t only feel basackwards, but actually was.
On the river, the only way we could ever override the wind, and make it to our desired destination, was by turning on the engine and motoring. On the ocean of course it was a bit different, but only if we wanted to go a long way in the wrong direction to make a little headway against the reality of the wind. And of course … that doesn’t take into consideration the days the wind simply didn’t blow.
Kenny and I sailed when we could and motored when it didn’t make any sense. We hadn’t adopted the pure flow, hadn’t yet surrendered to the heart of the wind. We, not life, were in control.
But even then, when we were turning on the motor or trimming the sails, were we really in control? We adapted to the circumstances. Pushing against the wind, we didn’t get as far as we might have liked. The wind pushed us around, managed our actions, sailing or motoring. We couldn’t enjoy the quietude of the lazy sail unless the wind cooperated … unless we cooperated with the wind. The wind moved us. We didn’t move the wind. It moved us to trim sails when it blew and to motor or bob like a cork on windless days.
It’s kind of like life. Our sails are set, the spinnaker unfurled, and we go where the wind takes us or we fight it. We try to motor to our destination, using up our fuel, and still get pulled off course, the course we want and desire.
We react to circumstances and the mind plays its comparison games … well in comparison to yesterday we covered more miles. We motored a bit more and used up more energy, but we made it a few extra miles. What a good day … or we sailed all day … how wonderful … or the wind blew like stink and we didn’t make it very far … what a lousy day.
Each day we get up, put up the sails, and go where the wind blows us and each day we compare and contrast what worked and what didn’t, never realizing that we were simply blown by the wind and each reaction response counteraction was a merely reaction to how hard it blew.
Some days it blew like stink. Some days we experienced the doldrums. Some days we slept in and stayed tied to the dock … and some days the boat was in the yard.
And each day the mind compared and contrasted its success and failure without a thought to what was actually happening.
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.