It’s such a treat not having to dissect and dismember life, not needing to take it apart piece by piece to decide which parts get to stay and what must go. I wasted — well nothing’s a waste — so much time and effort, so many tears and tantrums, bloodying the world with what should be, that I totally missed what is … and I’m not talking about what seems to be, what most take to be a material world filled with material boys and girls, but what is here when all that falls away.
I know the mind. I know where it goes and how instantly it gets there, how quickly it fills in the blanks to add knowing to the unknown, so I’ll just add 😉 … and I’m not talking about an empty slate that appears magically when the mind drops, floating bliss, or a mystical forest that invites me in, but this world as it is without division and multiplication, addition and subtraction, the overlays used to determine right and wrong, good and bad, which way to go and which ways to avoid.
That’s what we take to be life — normal, unavoidable, necessary.
I have found that not to be so …
That was such a maddening way to live, taking asylum in the master storyteller’s sanctuary, the endless, winding, forever lost caverns of mind, a madhouse of righteousness, warring sides both claiming truth and ultimate reality, battling for dominance that neither can ever win.
Good lord! Is it any wonder that we act out, that we project our wounds, our intolerable pain onto the world … and is there any wonder that the world aches and groans with the weight of our transference?
Until I was shown what life is, what I am, no matter how hard I tried, how much I thought I understood, or how little I bought into the old story, I was still functioning from the old story.
The story is all. Whether it is believed or not: the difference between freedom and shackles. Even so, it’s all still the story, just different stories.
Seeing that clearly, admitting that we aren’t awake, are not enlightened or advanced, elicits the possibility to see that we are not at all what we seem to be. Awake, enlightened, advanced are simply different dividers, multipliers, adding and subtracting from what is already always so. They are the chapter titled Awakening in the story of Me.
Believing in that story, in any story, sets the stage for the bloody battle where we are the good guy and our own terrorist. Seeing it for what it is: the pearl beyond price.
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.
This is an advertisement
