It’s a slippery slope, a muddy slide, being present to the body’s sensations, the events unfolding before us, our emotional triggers while remaining fully present to the simple aware beauty of our beingness.
It is easy to get drawn in, sucked down into ego’s story about what is going on.
Perhaps that’s why most set up house in one or the other — the manifested world or the spiritual. Both, at the same time, seems unfathomable, feels profoundly irrational. Good lord! Is it even possible?
It’s not only easy to be engulfed in the story, it’s nearly impossible to abide as awareness, to practice the presence, while engaged with the manifestation, nearly, but not absolutely, impossible.
The work to stabilize as This — This which is the totality, the one that is not two, the unseparated and unseparable, is a true training ground.
I have found myself sucked into the story this past week. It started innocently with my pure willingness to feel what I feel, to experience my experience without need to improve upon it — to simply be here.
When the feelings moved into storyland that’s where I got in trouble. It’s all story — every bit of it — your story, my story, the world’s story — and yet, there is story in service to the ego, and a quite different form of story in service to love, peace and happiness — to that which we are when all separation collapses, when ego’s story dissolves.
Feelings arise without ego’s story and yet are closely knit to the personal experience. The natural tendency is to associate story with those feelings and when we do, we start sliding down the slope.
It’s normal. It’s how we’ve lived our lives up to this moment. The progression is seemingly built right in. A feeling arises. Meaning is assigned. Meaning is the story. Meaning creates more feelings, creating more meanings, strumming up new stories, and round we go.
What seems to be the point of this rich and difficult training ground is to allow the feelings to arise, to feel them deeply absolutely, and to let them have us, to let them move us, story-free. Without the story the feelings pass through, leaving in their wake, clarity. Out of clarity appears right action.
How do we know if we are sliding or not?
Does our life, who we are being, how we are being, serve love, peace and happiness or does it serve the slope — fear, noisy irritation, and misery?
That’s always the question … and it opens not into answers, but even deeper questions.
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. It’s actually much better than we can imagine. 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 … and she is. Love a paradox and life is nothing, if not paradoxical. 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.