Sedona, AZ –The themes of a lifetime … have you recognized yours yet? Mine seem to be pretty common threads. There’s two and they tie together seamlessly: seeing my own worth and my willingness to give myself away.
Are they basic themes for women? Not sure. Perhaps men are playing out these very same themes as well. You guys would have to chime in and let me know. I can only guess.
I couldn’t see the recurring motifs during my formative years, or even seven years back, yikes … not so long ago. It could be 😉 a shared theme that’s unwinding here, one so big that it required the extremes of life to impeccably backlight the soul disconnects, giving denial no place to hide.
An aside …
Denial is interesting. It’s not a friend, or at least it isn’t mine. People have asked why I put my life in print with all the messy details, why I don’t just keep it to myself. I do because if someone had done that so I could see, perhaps I would have realized earlier that my life as it is, isn’t something to hide. Denial is all about hiding. Needing to know ‘Why’ is just another version of denial.
Back to the theme …
I could ask why I did what I did but that really wouldn’t do much good for anyone. I did what I did. Period. I denied the proof before my eyes, the evidence that tore into my heart, the corroboration of my gut, and my spidey sense that said something ain’t right here. I denied what I did not want to see.
No argument.
I think that’s one of the reasons we stay in relationships way past their expiration dates or why we get into relationships that are flashing with neon warning signs. We have work to do, work that we want to do, recognized or not, and that particular combination will bring the dregs to the surface.
My last relationship …. haha … love that double entendre … wasn’t anyone’s fault unless you want to blame life, unless you want to pin life with cause and effect. I don’t know if the powers at play were loneliness, a need for laughter, the absence of touch, or just a need for someone to fill the space around me … perhaps it was missing Kenny … of course it was to one degree or another.
Or, maybe it was just being human. Ah … that’s the one.
Life shuffles the cards so that the joker always comes up. The joker is our theme, the thread of life that keeps us from real freedom, from living as infinite aliveness.
Seeing myself as unworthy was a dead giveaway (easy to see now) that I was playing in separation, that I’d put my faith and trust in the collective’s story. It seems like that one is common to all of us at least until we see what this is, what we are. While we believe that life is material, that we live and die, that the planet is not a being … and the rest of the inside out programming we’ve adopted, we can’t help but question our worth because we are right — that singular separated concept is unworthy, the menu not the meal — and yet, wildly worthy as it is the projection of mind that allows us to see through the fallacy.
As long as I am unworthy, of course I’ll give myself away. There’s nothing of value here, so heck, why not. Maybe it will be a good trade and I’ll finally get something of real value back.
We’re looking for that something to fill the holes, to make us feel worthy, to fill the vacancies or our lives, the emptiness that is so tough to endure. We haven’t yet seen that there is no hole, that we are everything, that the emptiness is the fullness too. So we give ourselves away in hopes of a good return.
What surprised me was that I was still willing to give myself away not that long ago … that with all the spiritual work I’d done, all the ah-ha’s I’d seen, all the crap I’d unearthed and exorcised, that I really hadn’t even slightly edited the thematic score of my life. It wasn’t until I saw the themes and consciously chose the life of a solitary recluse (giving myself no opportunity for a repeat) that the pattern had a chance to unwind. But honestly, it wasn’t until the fallacy was irrevocably seen as fallacy that the pattern released its density.
Knowing there is a pattern is life’s grand offering. Bit by bit it shows us. Seeing the pattern is a moment of grace, regardless of how painful it is to see it. After that, the unwinding, the dispersion of density is like sliding off a waterfall whose bottom you never reach.
Tell your story. Your story is precious. It is your offering to the healing flow.
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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