This is so magnificent, so amazing, superlatives fail to convey it. It's like nothing else, in fact it's like nothing. Everything has become entirely what it is. It's like saying wow to each little thing, being knocked out by seeing things anew over and over. Everything is new. It is always utterly, entirely new. And yet it's not happening. It's both real and unreal. Simultaneously. This can't be organised or taught. It is what is, in its unfiltered form; it's a miracle anything exists at all. The great secret of life is that this is the secret. The only thing in the way is the flimsy, yet constantly reinforced, idea that somehow we are separate from it. We are it, it is us. Yet everything seems to reinforce it. Everything seems to be presented with the assumption that we are separate individuals that are somehow fighting to survive. We are not. We are. We simply are. It is a great unruly play of beingness. Whole, complete, vibrant and exquisite. There is nothing to be done, nowhere to go, although the appearance of many things and places seem to arise. We live in infinite splendour, eternal being, it is this, what is, "here" and "now". There is nothing missing, there never was.
3 comments:
You mean those moments when we look upon the world and identify it as ourselves, as if something other was one of our arms or legs?
It can seem like that. The mind will try to label it, make sense of it. But it is simple; if it seems that something other is one of our arms or legs, then something other is one of our arms or legs. Whatever seems to be happening, is this.
Heard of a neuroscientist called Ramachandran?
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