How could we ever be strangers. Even the idea of it strays far from the actuality of life. It seems true, appears to be so, and at the same time is an utter impossibility. When we slide into home plate, fresh from our sojourn into form, will we look at one another and see strangers, or crack up laughing? Whew! Can’t believe I did that!
Oh what a ride this is, to look into the mirror of life and see strangers: people we feel drawn to, ones we despise, and those who remain invisible to us; things to enjoy, happenings to deplore, so many objects to explore.
It’s odd that we see strangers, rather than our own face, the face of God. Ah … yes. The game is afoot.
There is nothing but This, the innumerable fronts of infinite aliveness taking shape, shifting form, dancing in color and light, fireworks of display, slipping in and out of seemingness without a patch of ground upon which to stand.
Isn’t it fun! Oh, what a voyeuristic delight, to believe we are separate, to see other as strangers, to peer through the senses of all creation and pretend we are two, are three and four, when in actuality this we are is absolutely inconceivable, could never be two, and is always displaying its spectacularly ordinary face.
Enamored of the creative flow, seeing the face of God in everything, drops this creation to her knees. That there is anything here at all is beyond miraculous. Every leaf and blade of grass, fluffy clouds floating in a blue sky, strangers on the street corner, those who hate and those who love … watching my many selves play, learn, grow, struggle, forget, fall, experiencing all there could ever be … what an incredible exhibition of ecstasy and agony this is!
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.
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