Is it enough to simply love, to love simply? Can we stop right here and let love work its magic without our interference … and what is interference but opinion preference judgment — the right-eousness of separation, the shaping of reality into a form other than love.
That’s life as most know it — layers and layers and layers of interference masquerading as what is. Underneath it all, comprising it all, is love for there is nothing else. Even the evil in our world is a cry for love.
It seems everyone has an opinion preference judgment. They fall like mists that cloud the skies of love. What if we let them drop — just for a breath … it doesn’t have to be forever — and let love have its way without any input from the limited mind … and simply watch as the unlimited creates and crafts, spilling out its inherent glory.
What might happen? It wouldn’t be too big a risk. After all, you can always run a little interference if the flame gets too hot. That’s why you do it, you know. Standing in the middle of the burning bush, its brightness — your brightness — blinds you and you look away — you put a layer of safety between you and the light, disrupting the effortless flow.
It’s uncomfortable letting the flame take you apart, to look into the brilliance and let it subsume you, so you close your eyes, tightly, bring your hands up to block the intensity. It’s hard to face the truth of you.
All your life you’ve been telling yourself lies. You’ve believed the pain-filled slights, the nasty jabs, the not-so-playful pokes, the jarring jokes at your expense. Along the way you bought into your smallness and shrunk just a bit in your own estimation, but none of that changed who you really are one bit.
You are so much more than you’ve let yourself be. You know it too. You’ve always known. Love is your remedy.
Love simply. Simply love … and stop there. Go no further. What is love? It is your YES to this moment, to yourself, to life, as it is. As. It. Is. You don’t have to improve on anything. Love already has that perfectly preciously in hand.
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.
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