This Is The Monstruosity In Love, Lady, That The Will Is Infinite And The Execution Confined.

Boundlessness is not going to be more infinite tomorrow. Timelessness isn't going to be more eternal after the next satsang. You are whole, complete, perfect and limitless right now. There isn't any other time, and there isn't any other state. So what are you waiting for? There is no utopia but this amazing playground, where everything is always available and every possibility balances on the knife's edge, teetering deliciously, free falling this way or that with the merest whisper of intention. Perhaps you feel your small self is limited and limiting, getting in the way of infinite vision, hampering this shining thing that is enlightenment, where everything is wonderful and all cares and woes dissolve into some sagacious, loving, compassionate ether; where all apparent acts are righteous, and the story of life is devoid of harm and malice. That idea keeps you waiting for what is omnipresent. This expectation veils what is omniscient; the sense that you are not already what you are hides your omnipotence.

Liberation isn't about being more than what you are; it is recognising that what you are, right now, is already free. Enlightenment isn't something you can claim, attain, or take comfort in; it is seeing there was never a limited, separate, sweetly human creature in the first place. Awareness is this, just this, and whatever this seems to be is you, created by you, for your delight. It can be seen. So while you self-inquire, sit in silence, be with stillness, stop thought, meditate, talk with others, agonise over ever being enlightened, make your breakfast, argue with your boyfriend, write tomes about how inadequate life is, feel frustrated, and lament the woes of the world - while you do whatever it is that is done - oneness isn't hanging around, getting any "one-er". The dance of life is danced, and you are along for the ride, the rider, the ridden, and the maker of the ride itself, always. Not tomorrow, or after you've read the next book, or sometime in some nonexistent future. Now. It has to be now. There is only ever now.

My interview is up on conscious.tv, but seeing that won't help either!

The End, The Beginning: A Silent Post

Time Hath, My Lord, a Wallet At His Back, Wherein He Puts Alms For Oblivion.

"I seem to come back," say some, confused. It seems so important that there is always that stillness of mind, that the mind and its thoughts - oneness, "thought-ing" - are "stilled". The seeker of enlightenment, it seems, has to have something to do. "Be quiet long enough to see this," or meditate, or go to a meeting or "gathering of friends together" or a satsang where oneness, somehow, is more obvious. Join a live webcast or a virtual meeting in Second Life, or a three day residential, or a have few one-on-one sessions with an Advaita teacher, paid for or not, neo- or traditional. Even the edict to give up, the insistence that there is no one already, the maxim that any sort of practice fuels separation by emphasizing there is indeed a seeker who can do any of this, gives the seeker something to ponder, to avoid, to do.

Yet there is nothing wrong with any of this. Oneness is, whether the "me" drops away or not; whether there are "glimpses", and the small self seems to return, or not. Comfort is not the goal - there is no goal - not even enlightenment. But maybe it's a comfort to realise that this is, whether it is seen, or not, by no one. There are no goals, for goals need time, and there is no time; time is a convenience, just as the separate individual is. Oneness is, no matter what. Giving up may seem to happen. Or it may not. There is nothing to do but what is done. And if what is done is seeking, and what is felt is longing, and what is experienced is suffering, perhaps it is a comfort to know that even separation is oneness, in a particularly tricky guise. And if you're hopelessly separate, suffering and alone, perhaps it's an idea to treat yourself as you would some other separate-but-not individual you found to be suffering; that is, with compassion. Perhaps, too, there is comfort in the fact that there is no need to suffer and wait; it's not gonna get any more "one" than it is right here, and right now.

You Have No Such Mirrors As Will Turn Your Hidden Worthiness Into Your Eye.

Why even talk about this? Concepts about enlightenment are fruitless, and can never be it. Why not spend time eradicating poverty? Last night I heard a comedian end his act by saying "If we [America] used all the trillions of dollars spent on weapons to eradicate poverty - which it would do, many, many times over - we could explore space together as a unified world". Well, in spite of the massive logistical social/national problems with such a task, and the fact he left out disease, he has a point. What I and so many write about, whether they emphasize there is no utopia but this or not, there seems to be a real lack of putting value on the story of life, and making that story a more compassionate one. It's an illusion, we say; you have no choice in anything you do. Yet seeing reality clearly brings with it - or can - a certain lack of fear, a loss of ego-concerns. The apparent actions of one's life can usually change to something "better", when we are not in the way, boxing our delicately constructed ego into a tight, protected corner, or lashing out in fear-driven anger against apparent others who threaten us. This is not a philosophy of life; it is merely seeing through the illusion.

"There is ONLY seeing-knowing. The expression is NOT it – the expression is like a reflection in the mirror. The reflection is never what is reflected and there is a SEEMING distance between these APPARENT two and YET they are actually One." -Gilbert Schultz

Gilbert's pointer to pure awareness - or seeing-knowing, beingness, or whatever we call it on Fridays - can be confusing, when in one breath the writer says there is only seeing-knowing and the the appearance is not seeing-knowing, yet in the next breath says that the appearance is, indeed, oneness. It's the kind of paradox the mind hates - the mind can't stand mutually exclusive yet co-existing concepts. They are, after all, just concepts. You can pay attention to the machinations of life - the ins and outs of the expression - pay attention to the apparent causes and effects - or there can just be paying attention. Thought, it is often said in these blogs and books about enlightenment, is overvalued; too much importance is placed on it, it is said. Boundless, infinite, eternal, timeless awareness is before thought; without thought. Thoughts, and the ego-structure they create and reinforce, are the problem; or perhaps put more mildly, the difficulty.

Well, maybe so. But it seems to me we have the perfect mechanism to explore, act, ponder and emote right here, staring us in the face; it is the face. We are boundless, and not limited; yet any apparent limitations of manifested life are the perfect playground for any and all actions. So if a strong urge to eradicate poverty comes up, volunteer. If not, don't. Without embracing the ego-fears of worthlessness, the energy for action is available and the freedom can be intense. However, the danger of trying to describe any supposed benefits of enlightenment is that the ego will desperately cling onto the idea of a "better" life. Life doesn't have to be orchestrated by a small self, just seemingly executed by it; All-ness takes care of it, opening up the story in ways the ego could never have imagined. And if the small self seems indelible, the playground is still here, oneness is, and many possibilities are always ripe. If there is a point to awakening, and there isn't for the ego, it is the intrinsic value of liberation itself. But don't take my word for it, or any word. It is everything you are, seem to be, thought or no thought; this, just as exactly as it is. See it "for yourself"; just see it; it is simplicity itself; it is everything, now, here, this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybDOJP7FP6Q

Why, Courage Then! What Cannot Be Avoided 'Twere Childish Weakness To Lament Or Fear.

Everywhere - yes, there is me.
So whatever comes to be
Will melt into all that was,
This, no matter what life does.

Here I am, and here I stay
I am everything today.
I am time, and I am space,
Every deed, and every place

Every when is when I am
I am lion, I am lamb
I am anger, I am peace
I will never ever cease.

I, the only thing that's real,
That can harm, and that can heal,
I, the only thing that lasts,
No more futures, no more pasts.

I am what has always been.
I am sainthood, I am sin.
I am everything I see.
I am what it is to be.

All that happens, that is me
All love and antipathy.
I cannot reject myself;
Take me from the dusty shelf.

Everything - yes, that is me.
I am all, totality
I am me, and I am you.
This, no matter what I do.

S. Foxton 2009

My Brain More Busy Than The Labouring Spider Weaves Tedious Snares To Trap Mine Enemies.

Thoughts are gifts, from nothing to no one; they are oneness like everything else. Thoughts are not your thoughts, even the ones that say "I can't see that everything is one" or "it's a good idea, having this affair" or "I'm going to teach that son-of-a-bitch a lesson. He can't drive like that and get away with it!". All those thoughts that seem to come together and make up a separate, special "you" that things happen to - they are oneness, being two-ness, life looking at itself. Meditation and self-inquiry, those tools for stilling thought so that oneness seems more obvious, are useful tools, yet not necessary for oneness to be; oneness is, whether it is seen by some separate, delicately constructed persona or not. But you want to see it! You want it more than anything else. You never will. Rachel never will, Bert never will. But Bert or Rachel can fall away, or seem to, and their concerns can be not so absorbing, and their suffering can be pain that seems to come and go, and their joy can be boundless, contained even within the sharp intensity of pain.

People who seek enlightenment come to find something in oneness; something better, something absolute. Nothing less than the Secret of Life will satisfy them; that knowledge of the meaning of life, its true nature; reality, seen clearly, lived completely. There are so many ideas and concepts about what enlightenment is like and what it should be. They have some idea that it should be more than is already the case. Yet this is reality; this is enough. Not only is there never any time but this, every practice reinforces the idea that there is someone to get this, and it isn't already what is. There need be no ah-ha moment, no peeling away each layer of the ego, no goal in some non-existent future. Enlightenment is as easy and natural as breathing, heartbeat, seeing your lover's face. It is here, now, and everything. So don't fret at the incongruency of life unfolding, timelessly, in some unmistakable line of time; this duality is a gift, from life to life itself, so that the only thing that is - awareness, or God, to some - can apprehend itself, in consciousness.

Perhaps the unfolding story can never hold the suffering it seemed, when boundlessness is known; but make no deals with oneness; there are no guarantees; and whatever happens is oneness, no matter what it feels like. The mind's small or large hurts and causes still unfold, for life must see itself, and see itself in all the many guises available. These tiny wonders that are life are but a hint of what truly is, and what truly is, is nothing different from the life that is right now, and the very fact it exists. Don't worry about time in timelessness, or thought's contraction in boundlessness, or imperfection in perfection, or any of the incongruencies that duality affords; or worry away, if that's what comes up. This two-ness is oneness. We are lived, until the living is us, and us the living. You are everything, already.

Be Absolute For Death; Either Death or Life Shall Thereby Be The Sweeter.

Questions I've been asked, and answers; a foray into the first person, rife with the landmines of presence vs. presents.

I was asked if I felt I possessed personal power, and if I, for example, blessed an airplane as I boarded. No, if I go on an airplane I don't bless it or anything. I don't know about that kind of stuff, messing with energy, etc. With my luck, I'd get the blessing just a li-i-i-tle bit wrong and the whole thing would go down in flames!

I was asked: Do we teach what we need to learn? Well, if you're just talking about day-to-day life unfolding, it seems to me that there are a lot of mirrors and clues about lessons to be learned in every person we meet, or reaction/response we have. I teach my kids "pick up your disgusting dirty socks" so I better be darn sure I pick up my own dirty socks. The dirty socks on the floor offend me; what does that say about me? It says that I better yell a bit more loudly and persistently at the kids - and husband for that matter - until I have bullied and nagged them into picking up their horrible, crusty socks.

I was asked: Do I attempt to control anything in my life? That last answer takes care of that question: I attempt to control my family's behaviour with floors, and socks.

The personal power I possess is minimal. Although I try to use my power over the family's sock habits, through manipulation and aggression, they largely ignore me. Maybe I should chant some stuff and use some hoo-do, or cast a circle and call up the Goddess and the Great Horned God, but even a whole platoon of elemental spirits could easily be ignored by a child on level 10 of Fallout 3.

I don't really goal-set. Years ago I read "Creative Visualisation" by Shakti Gawain, but it was a bust. It was too much like telling the Universe what I thought was good for me. Now it seems that goals come up, writing the blog for instance, or writing a book which I've just done, but the difference seems to be I'm not agonising over them or trying to find my "true purpose" or needing them to validate or define me. I am defined, and undefined. It seems much more fluid and easier now. The less I'm involved - meaning ego-fears or concerns - the better it goes, whatever it is. Nonduality just means that ego-stuff comes up, due to long conditioning of the mind/body thingy, but doesn't really stick around; there's not much for it to hook onto. It also isn't taken very seriously, by, most definitely, no one.

I was asked: How do I raise my children? Long ago (or so it seems) my husband and I started socialising them along the lines of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". So if they do something "wrong" within this framework, a belief system like any other, I just remind them about being nice to others, and remembering that we're all worthy, and things along those lines. It seems to cover most occurrences so far. I remind them of how marvelous they are a lot, say "I love you" constantly and hug them to the point of them saying "get off me Mum!". That encapsulates my child rearing philosophy. I guess I lead by example: my observable behaviour reflects being very patient with myself, and not too hard on my own humanity, and with every apparent other person I encounter, which seems incredibly easy "these days". Mostly, I muddle along as best I can like 99.9% of humanity.

About choice - there is the appearance of choice in day-to-day life, of course, but life is illusory, it's just energy arranged very interestingly, and anything chosen is the same thing - oneness - in yet another fascinating guise.

I don't think there's destiny, because destiny implies time - future - and there is no time, just this, this now, this ever changing now. There can be an unfolding story that appears to validate the idea of destiny, but that yet again is just yet another beautiful and fascinating expression of oneness.

Ambitions come up, just like goals, and are intrinsically fulfilling - that seems the closest way to put it.

Instinct and intuition seem to be more part of the story these days. My poor, beleaguered mind has been let off the hook, by itself, by nothing.

All words fall together to reflect some system of belief, and are always concepts. The real challenge with describing direct, unfettered presence is that it's not a concept, or a feeling, or a state. It encompasses all belief systems, and negates them, and validates them, and is them all, and is none of them. Very tricky.

Oneness is always everything, always already the case even if your mind is in the throes of frantic seeking. Whatever you're doing is the perfect expression, the perfect invitation, as Tony Parsons puts it. There is no utopia but this. There will always be those who work for peace, love and a better world, and those who oppose all that, due probably to separation and fear. It seems it is possible to fall in love with it all. Who falls in love? Love falls in love with itself, I guess.

If I have a message - and I don't - it would be that you, whomever you think you are, however you seem to perceive reality, are beautiful, whole, complete and perfect just as you are. Your ego is beautiful, and the awareness that is everything is beautiful, and you are that awareness, looking lovingly at itself. Reality may be a fragile illusion, but it is a gorgeous, complex, fascinating, engrossing, fulfilling, and fantastic illusion to be enjoyed, and reviled, and felt, and touched, and seen and heard and apprehended by its own very self, and you are that.

Writing this was fun. However, my husband kept coming in and interrupting me. Annoyance arises in awareness! But also tolerance, patience and husband-handling skills. Whatever I'm doing, it is just what must be done. And I'm not doing a thing. What freedom.

I That Am Cruel Am Yet Merciful; I Would Not Have Thee Linger In Thy Pain.

It lingers, hope. It lingers as much as despair does. The story of hope for a better life and a better world, that the world's story will improve along the lines of less (or no) fear-driven actions and more (or totally) compassion-based actions lingers, even with those who supposedly have no stake in the world's story. The mind needs the story; the personality needs a goal. Very few see this world as utopia. If they do, they are dismissed as deluded or blinkered, or as coming from a place of apathy and privilege. For all of mankind's history - the story of humanity - there has been strife and peace, suffering and redemption. Life, the story of it, is always in balance.

There is no time for the story to unfold, not really. It is always now o'clock. The memories and speculations that make up the story are happening now. There is nowhere to go but here. When that hope - though persistent - and that despair - though recurring - and the thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow - though abiding - are no longer taken for the point of it all, what is left is a boundless now, a spaceless here, full and empty, everything and nothing. You are not separate from what you are seeing, hearing, feeling, touching, even thinking. There is no difference; that is you. You are everything. Perhaps even more importantly, you are everyone. Every person you seem to meet shares the same consciousness. If the self and its concerns are lost, the whole world is gained, by no one. Just like that Jesus dude said.

For Never Anything Can Be Amiss, When Simpleness And Duty Tender It.

There is nothing, that is not oneness. There is no one, that is not oneness. How can what awareness seems to manifest be wrong? There is nothing wrong. And in that awareness, of neutral, perfect manifestation, lies the attitude that many who seek - and exhort the benefits of - and desperately push enlightenment require. There is both peace and passion in this seeing; and often, there is no desire for it all to change to something better.

Humanity - desperately working for peace, or inciting hatred. Despite the widely varying motivations and personalities, we are all the same. Strip away the belief systems of the mind, look in the mirror and know absolutely that the person seen is just the same as the Taliban member who wakes up in the morning, looks into his bit of mirrored glass and reaches for his turban. That sense of self, of I Exist, of I Am, that seems so singular and special and ours - that consciousness is shared. And simply that is what these words point to. It is tempting put a lot of importance on the thoughts, the story of existence; the people who write about oneness, Advaita, consciousness, awareness, or whatever we're calling it, go to great lengths to try and devalue the mind and the thoughts, and the personality they weave, the personality so often mistaken for that shared consciousness. The story of dispelling all that is the most important story, evidently. "Why are you unhappy? Because 99.9% of everything you think, and everything you do, is for your self, and there isn't one," says Wei Wu Wei. There is a great urge to end the suffering that the misguided attribution of the story equalling the Self apparently causes. There is a lot of energy devoted to insisting that the sense of separation - the effect of this mis-attribution - is incorrect, and not clear seeing of reality. Or, the self and its personality is celebrated, and the oneness of shared consciousness is rejected as too dry and arid; the story of life is treasured, and the tasks presented by life are deeply valued. If we all see clearly our shared consciousness, say some, then we'll be a world healed, working together for a common, loving goal; we will be love in action. Or, say others, if we lose our value of the separate life, we will be passionless, and be unmoved by the plight of mankind, and unmotivated to work for peace, healing and harmony. Or perhaps, say the haters of dispassion, if we lose our personalities and passions, the world will be a dull, saccharine place, full of do-gooders with no hopeless cases to take under their wing, all happy-clappy, touchy-muchy and healy-feely. Bleagh, they say. Where is the wholeness, the interest, the variety, in that?

It is already just as it is. How it might be is speculation happening now. How it has been is memory happening now. It is, was and will be as it must be. All the suffering, war, working to end war, passion to make a positive contribution to society, present awareness uncluttered by believing the thoughts that arise, apathy, hard work -it's all here now. Those thoughts - no matter what they are - are not yours, and every single thought is a gift. Those actions - no matter how well-considered - are not your actions, and every action is an act of worship. The thoughts rejecting or embracing the concepts just read - again, not yours, no matter how involved they seem to be with your personality. There is nothing wrong, not with the most amoral acts, or the understandable resistance to those acts of immorality; nothing wrong with passionate, missionary actions to save the world, and get us all to behave compassionately. Life is, has been, and will always be everything. It is here for no reason other than itself. Those stories, seeming to unfold, are real and unreal, meaningless and meaningful; the bland, passionate, cruel and loving Utopia our separate personalities have been looking for is right here.

Lay Open To My Earthy-Gross Conceit, Smother'd In Errors, Feeble, Shallow, Weak.

Everything is oneness. Absolutely everything is; there are no mistakes. The most horrific errors, a split-second of poor reflex or a well-considered, but misjudged, decision, even these are not mistakes. The child that runs into the road, hit; the sober drunk that picks up drink and drugs again after many years of abstinence; the inappropriate career chosen, the person married in convenience or pressure rather than love; any of the long list of things we could change, if only we could go back in time; even these are not mistakes. Even the most painful, life-thwarting feelings and urges are not mistakes. Everything unfolds both to no purpose, and to grand purpose, in the context of the story of a life. Life is everything; bliss and despair, pain and great, soaring pleasure. And all of it is bearable. There is suffering, and the end of suffering is so often sought, both by seekers of enlightenment, and most human beings, convinced that the pain is theirs and theirs alone, that pain defines them, that pain is useless, that pain is to be avoided or dispelled. But pain and suffering - some say that suffering is pain + resistance to pain - in the unfolding story, is often very useful. And even if it's not, and all of it is meaningless, and it is seen that whatever seems to be happening is just as it should be - there is nothing wrong with suffering. Perhaps, in the context of a story, structured by systems of belief, organised by the restless mind into some kind of sense, suffering that lingers is not so useful. But suffering, in any story, usually changes; wait around long enough, and everything changes. No matter how involving and intense the story of your life seems to be, that story - those feelings - those events, those others whom you struggle to interact with - they are not your sum total. You are all of it, and none of it; life is its own beneficiary; great pain and delicious pleasure are the same thing. No matter what seems to be happening, even if it seems to be happening to you and you alone, is just what must happen. Your life, with all its resistance, all the wrong thinking, all those errors you wish had never happened, is perfect, blessed and whole. There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong.

And now, a bit of "my" story, which seems to unfold, but doesn't really: I love life. I love it so much, the very appreciation of it floors me. This is in contrast to a dreadful, bleak, lingering suicidal depression that lasted about a year, three years ago. In my story, I would not change that terrible time for anything; it was a privilege to be so vulnerable, and to encounter others in their most human, fragile states. And, in the story, I might not appreciate every little thing the way I seem to now without that period of suffering. But don't think "you" must have such pain to "get" this. Everything is eternity and infinity; it is, whether the mind sees it or not; and "getting" this seems largely seeing that there is no one to get it. Everything is a gift, from nothing, to itself. It is. Here. Now.

"I am in love with Life. As the mountain lake

Which receives many streams And sends forth great rivers, But holds its unknown depths, So is my love.

Calm and clear, as the mountains in the morning Is my thought, Born of love."

J. Krishnamurti, from "From Darkness to Light"

But Then The Mind Much Sufferance Doth O'er Skip, When Grief Hath Mates, And Bearing Fellowship.

We are never alone. Even the ascetic monk on the proverbial mountain, playing out the story of hermitage and self-denial, is not alone. The drunk in those last, lost stages of active addiction, locked in a filthy room, shades drawn, is not alone, despite the overwhelming feeling of isolation. However we may run, we cannot hide; whatever form the running takes, whatever machinations the mind concocts to be anywhere, anywhen but here and now, there is no escaping this. Mike S has some great thoughts about awakening with others, and how others are necessary to mirror and thus unravel our small ego-self; read some of his concepts here. Yet there's no getting away from others, the many lamps of one light. Try and hide from all that is; it isn't possible. Whatever you do, it is God; whatever you see, it is God; whatever you are, it is God, and so is everything.

There is so much finger-pointing, advice and pointers to whatever it is Reality is supposed to be; so many methods and suggestions, so many ways to get it all right, or all wrong. There are ways to inject meaning into life, ways to potentially change our perception, tasks to complete that will remove every layer of deception, revealing the final and ultimate Truth. Yet this is the final and ultimate truth, just simply this, whatever it is that seems to be, just as it is. You are all you see, you are what makes it all manifest. There is no way to get it wrong. Strip the ego away, or let it thrive; there is no escaping reality. There are no mistakes, so don't reject rejection; do not prefer to have no preferences; do not be displeased by displeasure; and endeavour to not let go of holding on. There is no me that grieves, there is grief. There is no me that is tangled in the senses; there is entanglement. If love and hate are absent, and there is no distinction, heaven and earth are one; if the smallest distinction is made, and you seem the most separate, unenlightened being on Earth, heaven and earth are still one. Oneness does not care if there is separation. Oneness is one; life is always as it is meant to be.

Past Cure I Am, Now Reason Is Past Care, And Frantic-Mad With Evermore Unrest.

That intense, ravenous longing, that urgent need to see reality somehow differently than what it is, is the seeker's drive. We are all seekers, in one way or another; all activity is a seeking for consciousness - this life, just as it is - or a desire to come home to pure awareness (which can be called unadorned living) without importance placed on the content of life's story. How we want this! It is desired so strongly. And, frustratingly, we are told there is nothing we can do to make it happen. It's God's will, says Ramesh Balsekar; if its meant to happen, it will, and if it's not, it won't, says Stanley Sobottka.

Yet most of the bloggers and writers and teachers that seekers ferret out seem to have the (often only implied) goal of facilitating an awakening, even if it's merely to encourage the seeker to stop seeking, or to see that the personality is not what makes the man. Traditional teachers have many methods of stripping away all Earthly desires; more modern teachers encourage seekers to simply see things as they are, thus letting awareness shine through naturally. Sometimes the only action advocated is to "drop" the personal identity.

Well, how on Earth, or very pointedly how not on Earth, does one "drop" the very thing that does the dropping?

Therein lies the frustration. There is nothing the identity can do to drop itself; anything the persona does reinforces its own existence (and misunderstanding) as the seat of being, rather than being an adjunct, or a convenience. If it's any consolation - and consolation is not necessarily the goal either - "after" this seems to happen, the personal identity just ceases to be so important, and the task at hand is tended to very directly. That inchoate, wistful, painful, often all-consuming longing for things to be somehow different - somehow better - than they are just disappears. There can still be longing, but it is more like longing for the sake of longing; all states, all actions, all feelings, thoughts, plans and goals, exist only for their own sake. But there is no apt description of unfiltered life. It is what we've always done, but have never realised it was so.

Are You A God? Would You Create Me New? Transform Me Then, And To Your Power I'll Yield.

What could possibly make this more than it is? Why isn't this enough? Clearly what is looked for most often is meaning, and there is nothing wrong with that. Countless dissatisfied souls sit in therapist's offices, or in meditation groups, or at the foot of the guru or the foot of their children's beds, searching for meaning. Perhaps they want a higher purpose than just to earn a living. Maybe they become self-sufficient, or change jobs to one that is of more obvious value to their personal tastes and values. Possibly a complete change is called for; and often, a lessening of anxiety and depression is called for, whether this is accomplished by treating these feelings directly with medication or by taking more control of the story of their life. This is all fine; in fact, it is admirable. But we are constantly imprisoned by the parameters of the person who is depressed, who takes control, or is anxious; the one who feels; the one who the story happens to.

No one is is prison. No one is at the mercy of the circumstances of life. What happens - depression, despair, recovery, redemption - is unimportant; whatever happens, happens, and lessons may be learned or not, and healing might happen - or not. What we are is beyond all that, and is all that; "all that" is here for the hell of it, and the heaven. All that happens is parable; whether it seems an epic allegory or merely notable synchronicity, it hints at the greater possibility. And that possibility is that this is enough. We are boundless, and the happenings flow around the very fact of existence - the one indisputable absolute. Call it awareness, presence or "I Am" (capitalisation optional). It is the one and only thing that cannot be deconstructed or denied.

Let Your Own Discretion Be Your Tutor: Suit The Action To The Word, The Word To The Action.

"What should I do?" ask so many, many seekers; Andrew asked the question pointedly in the comments section of the last entry. Well, a lot of answers come to mind, none of them particularly useful. Advaita seems to be largely about pointing to the fact that awareness is here, now; that enlightenment, that elusive goal, is always already met. Liberation can never be something that happens in the "future"; all there is, is this: this ever present, ever lasting, timeless moment. It is only ever "now". Now is all we have, all there is. So, logically, liberation, awakening, enlightenment, whatever you care to label it, is always available now. It is, in fact, just awareness; it is the mere perception of whatever it is that's happening. So advaita, or nonduality, is sparse on practice. And it is often pointed out that any practice reinforces the notion that there is some separate entity that can get this. That separate entity - the persona or personality, the ego, Mike, Fatima, Pervez or Barbara, the person that this all seems to happen to - is illusory, and a convenience. What happens, happens, but not "to" anybody. So writers of blogs like this are likely to say that there is nothing you can do. Just look around. Whatever you're doing is the perfect expression of aliveness, oneness, awareness, or whatever we're calling it on a Thursday.

I suppose the only goal behind these words is to point out that everyone is complete and whole and perfect, just as they are. There is not so much the goal of inducing somehow the "ah-ha" moment, when the needs and desires of the persona are eclipsed by the realisation that their heart's desire is, in fact, in everything they touch, think, feel, see, hear, smell and taste - and it always "was". My goal, for whatever reasons of my conditioning, is to point to the beauty of what is, and the wonder that is each of us, just exactly as we are. I'm not fond of people beating themselves up for being human. I'm appalled by the destruction - both of self and of everything near - that self-loathing is the catalyst for. So I gently try to make people see how extraordinary they are, just as they are, by simply telling them this is so.

However, it's also the case that being appalled by destruction doesn't mean that it's not necessary. The other goal I seem to have is to merely describe balance: in duality, which is simply awareness taking a look at itself, there must be depression for happiness, despair for joy, destruction for creation, subject for object, war for peace. So I point out that there is always balance, and there is no utopia but this.

So, bearing all this in mind, the answer to the question "what should I do?" is: do exactly what you are doing. You can't get it wrong. If the thought comes up to join a meditation group, or embark on some austere and fruitful Eastern-based spiritual practices, by all means do so. If Byron Katie's The Work seems to beckon, please embark on that journey. If A Course In Miracles seems to fit your particular conditioning, get stuck in. However, perhaps the most helpful advice - if, indeed, there is any - is to give up. Just take the whole enlightenment search and stick it up the collective Universe's butt. Read everything, go to satsangs, get frantic with it, and then get disgusted and throw the whole thing out the Great Cosmic Window. The Buddha similarly gave up; when the mind stops its frenzied quest to annihilate itself, the obvious can shine through. No matter what you are doing, it is eternal and infinite. No matter how small you seem to be, you are eternal and infinite, too. Do everything; do nothing; it is all just as it must be.

And For My Soul, What Can It Do To That, Being A Thing Immortal As Itself?

How can there be anything but this? I know there are thoughts and feelings, children and bill collectors, bosses and boyfriends that make the story in time seem absolutely real. But even the poor, beleaguered, overworked mind can just about grasp no time. All there ever is, is this ever present moment; and in that - this -what is present reality for every individual - there lies the key to the mystery. There lies the secret of man's immortality; the only thing that really exists is now, here. There is no beginning or end to this. Time is a mechanism by which oneness can enjoy and merely be aware of itself; a means by which our senses and are bodies have some voice, a tool so that nothingness can be something, for the mere pleasure of pure existence. If the mind is seemingly not engaged, as is what happens in meditation, perhaps timelessness can be more obvious. But such quieting of the mind is not necessary, although pleasant. Whatever it is that seems to unfold, is the perfect unfolding, the best possible story. When the person it all seems to happen to is no longer the be-all and end-all, the story may indeed seem more efficient, or blissful, or go more smoothly; but there are no guarantees. The story may still be painful, but the pain may be seen as life in the front line, or simply balance; yet again, there is no certainty. There is no better way than the way that is. Everything you have ever been looking for is staring you in the face; and what you have been looking for is what looks.

Thou Art A Soul In Bliss; But I Am Bound Upon A Wheel Of Fire.

Here's a clip of Pamela Wilson, who speaks lowly and slowly and is obviously totally spiritual, talking about "coming home". The story she tells of seeing Yo Yo Ma doing a duet with a bird is a great one. I suppose what's she's talking about could possibly be called "The Zone". We've hopefully all been in The Zone at least once, and it rocks; it is life, fitting like a custom-made glove. The Zone can be described as being naturally hyper-aware, effortlessly interacting with great efficiency and creativity with whatever is happening - just going with it - with no resistance or apparent separation, and very little thought. It's an admirable state, and one probably worth cultivating, if cultivating it is indeed possible.

Well, I take no issue with Pamela Wilson no matter how veggie and into meditation she may be. However, it's all The Zone. It's tempting to berate ourselves every time we seem to plod along in our story, full of resistance and resentment, separate above all, wishing things were different than they are. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what twists and turns the story takes, or how completely absorbing the world of the separate, disconsolate, discontented mind may seem. It's all The Zone; whatever it is, is oneness in the fascinating and multifaceted guise of separation. Oneness doesn't care if there is apparent separation. Oneness is, whether it is appreciated (by itself) or not. So don't despair of never reaching some higher plane, some "better" state of being; or do despair, if despair is what is there. In the story, whatever seems to be will surely change. Whatever this is, it is wholeness, perfection, The Zone; and you are whole, complete and perfect just as you are, for you are The Zone. You can't be anything else. You are.

Time Is Their Master, And, When They See Time, They'll Go Or Come.

Life, the appearance, or whatever we're calling it today, is often full of surprises. It has the most marvelous, unpredictable twists and turns. The "fruits of wisdom" often become available in life-stories of struggle, suffering and redemption. Life, just as it is presented, in its ultimate unpredictability, will often carry with it intrinsically the practices that bear the fruits of wisdom; self-questioning, clearing house, and accepting what is without needing to change it or run away from it, to name a few. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,/Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." This phrase conveys the multifariousness, the infinite possibility of what is. Even a grounded common sense informs us that we often don't know what is "good" for us, or how any particular circumstance will turn out; anything might happen. And does. Including enlightenment, or whatever we're calling it today, "happening" for a devoted traditional practitioner, or WHAMMO! It hits out of the blue to someone who was never even a spiritual seeker.

The stories unfold on the crux of a twinkling of energy; all those thoughts and feelings that string the thing together - just firing neurons, neurons composed of atomic nothingness. I know there are children and bill collectors, bosses and boyfriends, crushing guilt and enormous responsibility, or great joy and fulfillment that make the story in time seem absolutely real. But even the poor, beleaguered, overworked mind can just about grasp "no time". All there ever is, is this ever present moment; and in that - this - what is present reality for every individual - there lies the key to the mystery. There lies the secret to man's immortality; the only thing that really exists is now, here. There is no beginning or end to this. Time is a mechanism by which oneness can enjoy, or merely be aware of itself; a means by which our senses and bodies have some voice and movement, a tool so that nothingness can be something, for the mere pleasure and pain of pure existence. If the mind is seemingly not engaged, as is what can happen in meditation, perhaps timelessness is more obvious. But such quieting of the mind is not necessary. There is nothing other than wholeness, completeness, oneness, here and now, "always". There is nothing to get "in the future". This is everything, right here, right now. Do nothing, and you are what you are, which is everything. Or do whatever seems like the next correct step, the next well-pondered decision. It doesn't matter. There are no mistakes. There is room for it all. There must be; it is.

Nay, An A' Do Nothing But Speak Nothing, A' Shall Be Nothing Here.

What Should I Do?

Make the fine mind dull.
Do not ask questions more;
For questions blind the mind,
A willing whore,

To any formula of final rest.
The place, the answer, wrought of genius games;
A thrilling meadow of the sunlit quest,
Where senseless sanity will soothe and soar.

Pry the hard heart wide.
Reject not any thing.
For hatred kills, divides.
So, hastening,

Move in the gentle grace of needless care.
The purposeful yet natural way of love;
A constant giving paean of love's fare,
Where all-inclusiveness will Zion bring.

Do nothing at all.
Surrender treasured goal;
For thoughts and actions, as they are,
Are whole,

And flow around the center of all lives.
This is the place, the goal wrought of itself.
All, as it is, is bounty, and it thrives,
With or without the mind and heart and soul.

S. Foxton 2009.

Describe Adonis, And The Counterfeit Is Poorly Imitated After You.

No words or concepts can capture this, whatever it is we're attempting to describe. There is no true path to it. There is no perfect pointer. Labeling it "unconditional love, that accepts all and cannot reject itself" or "the only constant, awareness, the center around which life flows" is unimportant. There is no manual that describes the perfect way to be. Words describing immediate, direct experience, where there is no doer, only what is done, are still a description. Whether the ego is rejected, or seen through and embraced, doesn't matter. Whether frantic seekers "get this" or not matters not; if not getting it is what is, that is what is. Perhaps meditation is the key, and the drooping seeker finally rests in awareness, directly and flawlessly, just pure being. That may be the goal, but it is no better or worse than any other. Whether the conditioning of the mind/body is broken down and dissected and finally defeated, or whether that conditioning is seen as the character, choiceless and not needing any meddling with - neither of these is the goal; or perhaps, both of them are. Whatever it is, it is this. Whatever this is, it is. Life is its own purpose, and the appearance of life is simply what is seems to be, whatever that is. There's no way to get it wrong; there's no way to get it right. Whatever your responses or reactions seem to be, they are perfect. No matter how definitively absolute awareness is described, it is nothing more nor less than this; and even such simplicity is only a description. There is nobody that needs to "awaken". We are all "awake", whether it is seen as "there is no one", or whether it is seen as "there is only love"; whether it is insisted upon that awakening can never occur without others, or that awakening must occur in solitude; whether a lucid life, seen through as a dream, is taken hold of and lived to the fullest, or whether a complete surrender happens and the doer is taken for a wild ride, in free-fall. It is all just as it is.

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguiled.

The ego, said a friend of mine once, is like an abandoned child, embraced again when it is seen that ego is this too. There is nothing wrong with your reactions and responses. There is absolutely no choice; the paradox of apparent choice, even carefully worked out decisions, gravely considered and deliberately executed, are the actions of a life lived. In the story of awakening - no more nor less important than any other story - this paradox is often the last thing the mind has trouble with, that it wrestles with, grapples with, frets over, and cannot make head nor tail of. Perhaps oneness is seen, and even understood a bit by the overtaxed and overvalued mind. Then why is the day-to-day, the mundane, the story of life dependent on time - why does that seem to still go on? Why do we encourage our children to get a good education and fulfill their potential if fulfillment is truly this, just what exists, right now? Why do we continue to sort out the admin of life, pay parking tickets, work for the mortgage or rent, question the systems of governance and do our best to make the world a better place, if the world is truly perfect as it is? Why is the story - duality - apparently still bought into? Why do we groom ourselves and educate ourselves and volunteer our time and try very hard to do the next right thing if there is nothing wrong with us? Why do we still meditate, pray to some deity outside ourselves, or have a heartfelt conversation with a troubled friend, if there is no state of mind or action better or worse than any other? Why don't we - as expected, as anticipated when awakening was sought - turn away from all this, and live only in this everlasting moment, completely unconcerned with the machinations of life, and the comforts of the material world? Why is it not turned away from, why does it not hold no appeal whatsoever?

Because there is no choice. You do not choose what is chosen. You do not do what is done. This is the everlasting moment, whether it is apprehended or not. So whatever it is, it is; there is never any say in it; in this choicelessness is liberation. Gather up the ego-child and give him a hug.

Why Either Were You Ignorant To See't, Or, Seeing It, Of Such Childish Friendliness To Yield Your Voices?

Life flows by the center, or it seems to; it only ever did. This is that ever. The person it all seems to happen to, perhaps constructed so lovingly, or perhaps wrought in a furnace of anger and fear and hot confusion, that person, that construct, that conditioning, can slip away - or seem to - and be embraced and accepted and loved. Whoever you are, however you are understood, whatever poignancies arise for the person it all seems to effect and that affects others; wherever you are in your story, however inadequate the construct seems, or however powerful and in charge of it all you seem to be - you are perfect, complete and whole, just as you are. And although there is no formula, no road map, no proscribed handbook detailing How To Live the Perfect Life or How to Be the Perfect Human, there is this: compassion. Gentleness. What can arise is not judging yourself - your character - and others for being human. This isn't the goal, but when there is no one, or the self that seems to operate in the world is not so despotic, then a sense of compassion often seems to arise. "It's all about love:" so many non-duality writers are fond of this pointer. In fact, it's all love. All of life, the cosmos, our friends and family, war torn nations afar or in our back yard, rage and murderous anger, irrational self-righteousness, fear and its destructive, protective actions - all of it - is love manifest. You are that love. Completely, flawlessly, despite apparent flaws. The movement of life flows by, in perfection; you never move or change, and you are the apparent flow. When this is seen, compassion is likely, in any story that seems to unfold.

Best State, Contentless, Hath A Distracted And Most Wretched Being, Worse Than The Worst, Content.

What confusion, what bedlam, the mind can generate. There may be nothing wrong with it, but feeling uncomfortable comes with it some survival-driven urge to feel better. Pain is there, "they" say, to tell you that something is wrong; something being wrong is only valid in the philosophy that life must be maintained at all costs - organic life - and it is a philosophy and code of conduct easy to understand, borne of the evolutionary programming to survive, and create more organic life. So mankind struggles and survives, driven both by the questioning mind and the unquestioning body, the mind often questioning the simple drive to live right out of existence. Push and pull, tug and tussle, conflicts arise, so many of them contained within the small vessel of the individual, even before the handy conflicts between individuals get a chance to rev up.

So what is the goal in all this? What is the point? The message is there is no point; no answers, no questions, and no one who needs them. Whatever happens is the point, or whatever appears to happen. If what happens is a serene existence - the goal of many a seeker - then that is what is happening. Perhaps, in that story, there is a pining for the thrust and pull and challenge of the human condition, lost now in a haze of love; the moral of many stories of redemption and dreams realised, is that the psyche can still itch to have a challenge to pursue. Challenges can arise, no matter how fulfilled and content the protagonist in the story is. Resting forever in awareness, the mind will whisper, sounds boring. Perhaps it is, but it is likely that, without much claiming or discontent arising, the boundlessness of existence can be more obvious. The story of your life is not "just" a story. Contained in every apparent happening is the wholeness of what is; and whether it is seen or not, matters not. Life as it is lived, however that is, is the perfect expression, the parable of what is so simple it cannot be described. Life moves around the center, flows by, and the center never changes. The center, awareness, oneness, the absolute, I Am, whatever the label, is what both seeks and hides behind the seeking. There is not much in the story, the strand of cause and effect, that can illuminate the absolute, although it is in the story that so many look for it. It is what makes the story possible, and what is the story, and what is everything. So don't worry about an "enlightened" life being boring; don't hesitate to seek for fear of what is finally found may not be the ideal. There is nothing to find; it was never lost; and all that bedlam of the mind is just as beautiful an expression of it as anything that seems to be.

A Pack of Sorrows Which Would Press You Down, Being Unprevented, To Your Timeless Grave.

It's all very well, bandying about concepts or pointers or what have you along the lines of "there are no questions, there are no answers." So there aren't. What's left, when all the extra stuff of humanity is stripped away, conceptually or otherwise, is one, or presence, or the still source, or whatever we're calling it today. (I'm pretty keen on calling it Fred for awhile and seeing if that pointer moves "anyone". However, it might be confusing for the Freds of the world.) Fair enough if you've surfed and ended up here, or on any of these nonduality websites, a "spiritual seeker", having a moment of existential angst, doing that "what's it all about" thingy that has caused so much cosmic hand-wringing; these concepts are more or less what you expect. There are a lot of to-the-point pointers around, lots of good stuff about "you are the center, and life flows around you", or "how can 'awakening' possibly be something in the future, all is oneness, complete and whole as it is, so seek what is, right now"; or "you are all you see, feel, hear, touch, smell, taste and think," and don't forget "my" favourite: "nothing exists, despite appearances." Then some more concepts can fly about, stuff about the nature of the brain, the illusory essence of reality, just electrical impulses, what seems so solid isn't there at all, the very nature of matter itself seems, scientifically, a nature of nothingness, whose physics change when apparently observed (by itself). And we can marvel, and sort of get it, even the brain gets it, then it somehow becomes clear there is nothing to get. Whatever's been happening is all there is, and it's "been" that way "all along". So no questions, no answers, just the miracle of existence, lived.

But if someone surfs up to this website, or another similar one, and sees concepts like "there are no questions, there are no answers," they might get upset if they're not a typical "spiritual seeker". If they're an educator, they might get angry - it's difficult enough to motivate young people into the sciences, there is a shortage of scientists as it is; we certainly don't need anyone spouting off metaphysically about no questions and no answers! Happily, these websites are on the fringe, and the concepts they espouse are not probably going to take the world by storm; there is no need. Anyone concerned with the apathetic tendencies of humanity, another fruit of fear, will be outraged that to read of the idea that there is nothing wrong with suffering, taking that to mean that the oppressed should be left to their fate, with no intervention, or that the criminal should be unpunished, or that the heinous deed should be sympathised with. But any outraged reader is another step of the dance. So is the criminal, and the mercenary; so are the misguided enforcers of a limited brand of righteousness. Yet so is the healer, so is the red cross worker, so is Abdul Sattar Edhi and all the selfless, tireless workers for the dignity of humanity; they wouldn't be swayed by the ambivalent musings of some enlightenment devotee. Their role in the dance is clear. Anyone concerned that the noblest, best tendencies of humanity might be diluted by some fatalism or solipsism, some surrender that suggests that since nothing can be done, nothing should be done, perhaps may rest assured that each urge must have its opposite to even exist. Even those who fear the machinations of some elusive Illuminati, forever distracting us-we, the herd of common humanity-from holding any real power over our lives, they can go on with their crusade for societal freedom. Nothing changes, yet everything changes. There is nothing to be done, yet we will be lived. There is no separate entity, some little me or you, that can claim anything, though claiming may stridently arise. Everything ever sought, is right here, and what is sought is what seeks, always eluding any pat description. Revel in it.

It Prefers Itself And Leaves Unquestion'd Matters Of Needful Value.

There can be phenonmenon that seem to reinforce oneness, yet within those phenonmenon is always the story of duality trying to apprehend the source. It is sometimes easy to perceive that what is in one's field of vision occupies no space; it is, after all, an image in your brain, in your head, which is yet another image when a mirror or reflective surface appears. What feels so solid is just information, interpreted by the computer of the brain. And so you might wonder around with this new perception, and find it is accompanied by a feeling of great revelation and freedom; the illusory nature of reality is, at last, revealed; we are nothing but some fleeting energy, finding a temporary construct; and that goes for the stars, all the distant galaxies, even an achingly beautiful nebula. Space itself, you realise, occupies no space. That thing about nothing existing finally comes a bit clearer.

There is a unbridled feeling of awe in it, the tenuous connection that the little self has to the vastness of everything, revealed to be nothing. There is no reason to try to explain or describe it; it eludes all containment in concept, and the very nature of the revelation puts paid to any questioning or need for answers: there is truly no one who needs answers, there are no answers, no questions. Whatever you label your perceived scrap of humanity, it is the light and the window, it is everything and nothing, not a piece or a part, but all of it. For there is only one, and that is you, complete, whole and brilliant, whether there seem to be doubts or questions, bliss or sorrow, answers or despair, simplicity or chaos, or whatever it is that seems to be.

One Touch Of Nature Makes The Whole World Kin.

You are whole, complete, and beautiful, just as you are. The ins and outs and ups and downs of the story of your life are but a tiny part of what you are. You are the light that lets the story project; you are the timeless, infinite presence that mysteriously conjures something of nothing. You know this; you are this. Everything you see, hear, feel, touch, taste, smell and think is you; you are what you apprehend; the little construct usually labeled "you" is just a convenience. No one can tell you that you are less than infinite, less than complete, less than perfect; you are love itself, playing at duality, delighting in existence for its own sake. Love is you, and you are everything.

Words are written, no one prints them out. No one will be printing for awhile, as apparently, no one is going camping for ten days, in the story that seems to unfold at any rate! Nothing can go wrong in the "meantime," as nothing is happening; enjoy the appearance in my more-obvious-than-usual absence.

Love, Suzanne

The Raging Rocks And Shivering Shocks Shall Break The Locks Of Prison Gates.

Look here, and here and here for an interesting but (of course) meaningless exchange in the realm of nonduality bloggers and writers. Food for thought, but for who? Or whom?

Every concept is a prison, yet exists in complete freedom. There is nothing you can do, nothing to be done, except what is. If thoughts arise, reinforcing themselves, in the form of strong urges to investigate and practice traditional Advaita practices or any other practices that will strip away the ego, those are the urges that arise. There is no goal; the goal is always met, in whatever it is that appears. There is no struggle, although there is often the appearance of one, and this apparent struggle is beautiful, for it is what is. The human condition of being self-aware is not a problem; it is what is. The minor conflicts of seekers and commenters and teachers of enlightenment on the Internet isn't a cause for deep introspection or casual dismissal, although either of these might come up. The epic conflicts of people apparently faced with their imminent destruction, or the destruction of their sacred ideas, is not the proving ground of humanity. Humanity needs no proving ground; humanity has not lost its way, or if it seems to have, the story has simply shifted to the dark moment before the dawn. There is nothing wrong with humanity; there is nothing wrong with "you", however many thoughts come up that say there is something terribly wrong, and those things are this, this, and especially this. Everything is just exactly as it must be, no matter what is looks like, smells like, feels like, sounds like, or how it seems to be judged. Whatever your character does, that is perfect. Whatever you do, it is what must be. And in the story that seems to unfold, immediate presence is usually not expressed in destruction - although there must be destruction and creation both, in duality. This is paradise. There is nothing else.

To Your Huge Store Wise Things Seem Foolish And Rich Things But Poor.

It is really quite amazing, reality, or whatever you care to label it. Just pure being, just whatever it is that seems to be happening. Every apparent mind/body/brain thingy has it, in fact, is it. It is life whittled down to the absolute core. Livingness, just as it is. You are everything you see, feel, touch, think, hear, smell, and taste; the separate something that this all seems to happen to is just a reference point, and certainly makes things interesting, but is wholly unnecessary. It is a big ask, to abandon this persona, this interesting construct that has such an captivating story, full of pathos and delight; the main character in a fabulous or traumatic storyline, charismatic or unassuming, bigger-than-life or quite ordinary; much loved or similarly loathed. Yet there is no one anything is happening to. Happenings seem to occur; they may be claimed, or not. A time-dependent story is just a small part of All, and All is what we are. The sweet little frightened construct that everything seems to happen to, arises in All. We are not that. We are All, or One, or God, or whatever label seems best; this has nothing to do with words or ideas, which are a small part of All. Even these words are not what is spoken of, even if they are more to the point than most. Every apparent person, every evident persona, is All if stripped back to what the ego arises in. Everything, livingness, beingness, aliveness, All, One, whatever it is named, is all that there is. It is what you are. And, if the ask is too big to give up the tiny person that it seems to happen to, with their interesting story of struggle and suffering and joy and elation, it doesn't matter. You are everything, whether it is seen or not.

That Spirit of His In Aspiration Lifts Him From The Earth.

What of the story, then. What seems to unfold simply is, yet the mind plays, the mind delves, the mind seeks a pattern and a goal. It simply seeks; there is no one seeking. The person we think we are, the bundle wrapped around being, the sweet construct that laughs and hurts and ponders and wonders, that person we take to the therapist or we bring to the candlelit table looking for love, that we nurture or we lambaste as never good enough, is of no importance, as fragile and fleeting as a child's game of Let's Pretend. What it is that seems to do these things, is just what is, so being may see itself; and there is nothing wrong with it. Whatever it is that seems to be, is what is looked for; whatever twists and turns the story makes, saturated with import and significance, fraught with meaning and purpose and mysterious synchronicity, mean nothing. There is no way to stop it; trying to stop it supports it, intensifies it; life will do as it pleases, and there is no implication or purpose in any of it. There is only this, however it is defined. This eternal moment of reality is all there is, all "we have"; yet we cannot truly claim it. There may be great urges to improve the story, to make good, to feel better, to make things better for humanity, to relieve suffering; yet what is, is what is, and in the story, suffering seems to diminish when that story isn't taken so seriously. These urges can be followed or not. There is no choice, despite the appearance of options. In the end, the story may be improved, but the improving isn't the goal. There is no goal, save being; and what is sought is right here, right now, just what is, because there isn't anything else that truly exists.

All Eyes And No Sight.

Expectations are a killer. Expectations will box in and misidentify whatever it is that is sought. Every expectation is a concept, with parameters and demands, that cannot fail to fall short of what it is that is desired. The desire itself is ironic, for what is desired is always right here, screaming through the senses, the thoughts, and the feelings, whatever they may be; a desire must be sated in some nonexistent future, and what is desired is this, as it is, "here" and "now". Even in the story, expectations can blind the protagonist from seeing what is right before his or her eyes; witness Dorothy, who wanted what she had, home; or Captain Ahab, blinded by the expectations of catharsis through vengeance. Expectations will always fall short, or be unimaginative, or be too specific; and when pointing to the ineffable, will always disappoint. There is nothing, happily, that can box in liberation. It is both everything, and freedom from everything. It is not attainable through any specific practice; it is this. It is not any state of bliss, or detachment, or any state at all; it is what is, whatever it seems to be. It is one, without another; it is what seems to be happening, just as it is; all the talk about reality being illusory, or a hologram, or as substantial as the wall of a dream is interesting, and perhaps a useful pointer, but those descriptions are just something to give the mind to play with. There is no escaping everything, there is no way to lose it, there is no way to find it; it is. Any ideas about what liberation "is like" cannot contain it, or accurately describe it. It is what you are, it is what is sensed, it is eternal, timeless, infinite, and always available; it can be nothing else.

I Would Be All, Against The Worst May Happen.

So who is it, exactly, that hangs that extra added self onto being? Who is it that questions it all? Who is it that doubts, and frets, and sings and laughs and despairs? Why is it that apparent "people" who have "become enlightened", or, to be pedantic, have seen that there is no one, and there is no one who needs to be "enlightened", continue to paradoxically write and talk about the very thing that cannot be described? Why do they write the endless words, called "pointers" if you're doing it correctly, using nothing but concepts (for all words are concepts) to attempt to describe something that is not a concept? Why do they blog, and write books, and do interviews, and have ironic scraps in email and the comment boxes about the suitability of one concept over another? If freed from the mind, the tool of duality, why do they bother at all? How can they continue to use the personal pronouns if there is no one, no "me", only a deeply fundamental "I"? If enlightenment is freedom, liberation from the self, from the fairy-story of a separate individual named Randy or Charles or Joanie or Anthony or Suzy, why do they sign their names to what seem to be specific ideas of what "it's" like? Why do some of them vehemently refuse to describe the apparent story of their lives, and others freely drop in little anecdotes about the washing up or the school run? Isn't there some certain, perfect way it all happens, and the "enlightened" person uses exactly the right words (pointers) and does exactly the right things and says only what cannot be disputed, for it points to absolute truth and reality? Why do some profess to teach, and others firmly state there is no one to teach, and no one can be taught what is already everything? How is it that there is a paradox between oneness, just what's happening, to no one, and a story that seems to continue, reliant on memory and speculation? Who remembers and speculates? Just how does this ego thing work? Is it true that ego is just oneness, "ego-ing"? If liberation happens, and it is seen there is no one, is it allowed to doubt and laugh and sing and laugh and despair? If there is no ego, then how does the mind/body function? If there is no volition, why do "enlightened" people seem to make so many choices? Who is choosing, anyway? What's it like to be "enlightened"? Shouldn't it be better? Shouldn't it be good? Shouldn't it be a solution to every perceived problem? And furthermore, what's the point?

Whatever questions arise, that is oneness, questioning. No one adds the ego onto pure, unfettered, fundamental being; it may seem to be added, or not, whatever seems to be, is what is. The words are written, not just the worthy pointers, but the tabloid headlines and the signature on the death warrant. No one writes; no one has ever written. No one interviews, or blogs, or nitpicks, or derides, or agrees, or teaches. None of it matters. All of it is beauty.

The Present Eye Praises The Present Object.

How to put it? Not easy. Wherever I seem to be, whatever I seem to do, it is the same thing; it only looks and feels and sounds different. Whatever it is I ever thought I was looking for, was always right there, is always right here. Fulfillment and wholeness is the quality of life, and life is simply whatever seems to be happening; there is no Africa, merely thoughts of Africa; and if I seem to buy a ticket, board a plane, and land in Africa, there is only Africa, and that is exactly the same as wherever it is I seemed to be before; it only looks and feels and sounds different. There is just this, whatever this seems to be; whatever the thoughts and actions that seem to happen, it is the same thing, in a different guise. It doesn't matter what you label this; everything is God; oneness, beingness, wholeness, the still source; it is what is. The separate thing that notes this is not a separate thing; there are only thoughts, whatever the thoughts contain. It matters not a whit. Yet everything matters, its intrinsic value in its mere existence. Whatever this is, it is whole, complete, in balance, even if the thoughts opine it is not. And all there is, is now; it is all there ever is; all we ever have is the present, if you care to label it that, this, and it is endless, timeless, even if memory and speculation seem to make it a story of growing up and growing old. Nothing has changed, nothing can change. Yet everything has changed; the extra baggage of a constructed self is not taken so seriously, by no one; the thoughts opine this too. This is it, as Michael Jackson named his last (and sadly never to be seen) series of shows at the O2. Whatever it is, is what it is, and what it is, is this.