Even The Best Thinking Only Arises In This.

Thinking is not so big a thing as we seem to think. The mind is a lovely tool, it is the storyteller. Oneness, or consciousness, or whatever we're labeling it today uses the mind to separate oneness into two, consciousness into manifestation. We can never understand what is. The mind is not cut out to grasp the unknowable. Thinking just arises in this. The stories the mind strings together in apparent time can be so any things - beauty, cruelty, fascinating complexity. The scientists, the students of human behaviour, the scholars mostly believe that it can all be figured out, this, life, whatever it is. The mind can split and subdivide and expand the story in time to a breathtaking degree. I'm not brave enough to tell Steven Hawking that his fine mind and the story it reveals, that grasps so much of the nature of the manifestation, is just a tiny part of what is. A small piece of what arises. For some apparent individuals, the story falls into place, it is just the story. The parable that seems to have cause and effect. But there is no time for the story to unfold into, there is only timelessness. We live in eternity, this is heaven, timeless boundlessness. There is never anything but this, the story is all memory or speculation, that seems to arise in this. What freedom to sense that eternity is not something that will happen tomorrow, that "awakening" or "enlightenment" isn't something that anyone need seek. This is it, just as it is.