It’s an interesting balancing act, a high wire extravaganza, being in the world, but not of it. If that was accurate, one little slip and you’d be flying through thin air. Thankfully, that isn’t quite right since the words, ‘not of it’, give a sense of the world being somehow less than whatever the ‘not of it’ is, of being able to separate the two.
I’m going to attempt the impossible — like flying through the air and catching the tiniest ledge with my fingertips — but as Alice said, “Why sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
I’ll let you in on a secret. Perhaps you already know, but just in case you don’t, everything here is impossible, and mystical, magical marvels, it still appears in its gazillion shapes and forms.
That anything at all is experienced, that there appears to be a leafy green world, blue oceans, butterflies, a me and you, is truly the most preposterous miracle of all. That life is made of nothing, the nothing that is not something, that it puts on an exquisitely intricate award-winning show, boggles the mind, the mind that is also nothing, the nothing that appears as everything, the miraculous now-you-see-me, now-you-don’t fairy dust of life.
When everything is impossible, attempting the impossible takes on wings. Of course, it’s impossible! With that big obstacle out of the way, is leaves me free to soar, to dive through my self-imposed limitations and echo out into the deep end of my imagination.
What is it that I hold sacred — I love that sacred is scared if you move just one letter; they are so close they’re twins — what is it that tells me what is impossible and what’s not? Perhaps I could walk on water if I simply believed, if I believed simply. The idea of impossibility surely stands in my way.
All my sacred cows — the ones I don’t even know I inherited, that I adhere to, that rule my definitions of reality — are not sacred at all. They moove me into inaction, they stop up curiosity, with their interpretation of what’s possible.
It’s all interpretation, what I am willing to accept as possible, what I see as the end of the plank I consent to walk. If I am prepared to see the futility of any interpretation, if I am no longer fighting to hang onto beliefs but willing to be relieved of them, if the urge to fill the void left in the belief’s absence is settling down, the way is prepared, the ground fertile, impregnated with possibility.
As much as we want to be victorious over the ego, we fiercely protect our sense of self. All along, at its core, the spiritual battle hasn’t been to break free of self, but to stay in the world, to remain of it, to keep our individuality, to be here, but in less pain, with less struggle, with less sorrow and grief.
There is great beauty and precious freedom in seeing what this is. It opens into the realization that there is no way to be in the world but not of it. It simply rearranges the definition of what IT is, mangles it so completely that nothing is left to put into words. It takes all the sacred cows and tips them onto their heads, totally irrevocably tits up.
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.
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