It is fascinating to watch the world from a front row seat, to sit back and marvel at the levels of divisiveness that are splashed across the headlines, that comprise most of what is available to read.
I say fascinating because I don’t know what’s right and wrong. I can feel what seems to bring more love into the world and what stirs up the anger and hate, but even then, how could I truly know where any happening will take us.
I can’t. Just like I couldn’t see that breaking up with the boy in high school would open the way for deep learning, a sharp curvy undoing unlearning many years in the making … and that it would open the way for the next great lesson, and the next.
What I called bad … and believe me I have called many things bad that later proved their worth … was but a moment’s snapshot, a frame or two laying on the cutting room floor. I really had no idea what would happen, where the stream of life was taking me. I was simply caught in the pain and anguish of loss, of unwanted change, of an unpredictable tomorrow and named it bad.
I have been wrong many times, so many that it is beyond need or ability to count. I have been wrong enough times to realize that I really don’t know what’s going on here. Now maybe I’m just slow, or basically wrong at my core, but maybe not.
I tend to pay attention to patterns, like seeing the one constant in all my stories of life, in all the many done-me-wrong songs I sang — ME. When something happens over and over again amidst a parade of changing faces, it is hard to keep projecting it outward if you are even the tiniest bit open.
As a world we are coming face-to-face with the realization that our festering wounds are not caused by the others we’ve been taught to fear, to hate, to blame. They are not the ones who sliced our arms, who put the knots inside, who cramped our style and hearts. We are the ones. It’s never been others, but us, our fear, our hate, our quickness to blame, that creates an inferno of chaos out of this infinitely exquisite dance.
Dances often seem chaotic. Chaos is perception fueled by belief, belief in a better way, the right way, creating a seemingness of right and wrong. It’s not really possible but so it seems, so it appears. We see what we believe and can’t see what we don’t. We believe in separation and see separation everywhere we look. Believing in it doesn’t make it so, it simply makes it appear so.
We call it wrong because it hurts, and long ago someone we trusted told us that it is wrong to hurt, that we are doing something wrong, that we need to figure it out and it will stop. We believe many fantasies that prevent us from seeing the actuality right in front of us.
Life is joy and pain, sadness and happiness, sorrow and bliss. It is a life and death contract we entered into when we enter the world. What we mistakenly call wrong is written in bold letters and signed in blood. There is no avoiding the pain and sorrow, the loss and grief. There is nothing wrong with it. You haven’t done anything wrong. You do not need to fix it, to figure it out.
You can’t.
Seeing that is the freeing, free to be with life however it appears. Can you feel the struggle ease as the need to appease the gods of mind’s self-flagellation falls away? It won’t necessarily change the dance, but it might. You can never know in advance, and even then, the steps are always changing. What looks good today, may be bad tomorrow. What feels true today, may expand beyond the simplistic view.
The divisiveness, the chaos seemingly in charge, is one set of tightly held beliefs bumping up against another, sometimes held by us and apparently separate others. Sometimes it is within ourself. This world is taking us beyond belief, beyond ideas of right and wrong, whether we want to go or not. There is nothing for it but to be grateful.
Life is … that’s about all one can say with any integrity.
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“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.”
― Rumi
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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.