Worlds of wonder — such an interesting phrase. Are you aware that it isn’t just a cool expression, that it is actually true?
This world, the idea of you and me and him and her … the concepts of earth and sky, dimensionality and reality, time and space … the experience of stillness and noise, love and hate, separation and unity … the beliefs called asleep at the wheel, waking up or enlightened … all of them are made of nothing but wonder.
A phantasmagorical display — wowser!
When you see through the veils, the veils that are only veils of mistaken belief, you recognize the magical mystery of life. It is made of nothing, well nothing that can be named and yet, appears as everything. What a miraculous thing life is, a precious phantasmagorical display. If it doesn’t drop you to your knees, you aren’t seeing the whole picture, the grand and glorious, painfilled and sorrowful show!
The only way — or the only way I’ve discovered — to find out what this really is, is to drop all ideas of what it is, to be innocently present, and enter into intimate relationship with your experience … yes, your experience as it is right now. You don’t need to clean it up, to purify yourself, to stop your thoughts. You only need to be willing to be with your life as it is — intimately. Trying to fix or change your life, strangles the intimacy, making it more considerably more difficult. It’s not impossible, but the odds of intimate connection plummet into the basement, as any personal relationship will attest.
Innocent, intimate experience
What is the breath truly made of, the pulse, the sensation of touch? Anything you can name is programming, a program you’ve taken to be real, so don’t name, feel. Sense. Experience. Like a lover, be intimate with your breath. When you enter into relationship with experience, drop the labels. Be innocent, as if you were just born, before all the programming kicked in.
You’ve been told the pulse is the heart beating, but all you know is the sensation that you call a heartbeat. Even a surgeon can only know the perception of a heart, the sensation of movement against his fingertips, the thought of something more. Assigning no meaning, no cause or effect, intimacy simply is.
You can’t track down a thought or a feeling
Thoughts and feelings fall into the same bottomless unnamable vat of wonder even though you can’t define either one empirically. Don’t believe me. Follow just one thought for a moment and see for yourself. Can you get ahold of it or does it dissolve, shift, morph … poof? What is it really?
Feelings are similar, fitting neatly into the greased pig category. Touch into any feeling. It doesn’t matter if it feels kinda good, ecstatic, merely bad, or deadly. Just feel it and see what it is made of. Try to pin it down if you can. Betcha can’t. It’s easier, definitely more habitual, and comes to at best a vague conclusion if you just grant it physical-mental-material status. When you dare to find out what it really is, it leaves you sliding down a slippery slope, or standing in the sea of infinite groundlessness.
The programmed default doesn’t serve you
Assigning materiality, mental or physical, you miss the wonder — the phantasmagorical delight, the immanent magic of this hologram of a world. No matter how strong the storyline, how long the back-up of supporting thoughts and feelings, how convincingly palpable and sensual the sensations, how visually compelling the perceptions, you aren’t a material being. There is nothing of materiality in this worlds of wonder experiential.
The actuality is hiding in plain sight, just waiting for you to notice. All it takes to see more clearly is a willingness to let what you think you know go.
When you stop and look, setting down the baggage of your beliefs, you might just be surprised. Rather than an object that is born and will die, a separate self, bonded to pain and suffering, you discover the truth of you. You are prickles of reverie, tingling conjecture, a spectacular light show mirroring a world, breathlessness echoing through the singular simultaneity of eons.
You wouldn’t want to miss that, now would you?
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. It’s actually much better than we can imagine. 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 … and she is. Love a paradox and life is nothing, if not paradoxical. 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.
