Energy.

We're bundles of energy, put together in a way, a perfect way, a beautiful way, to see ourselves. In absence of a better way to put it, we have dreamed ourselves up. It's so difficult to take it very seriously. In order to see ourselves, there must be duality. Oneness plays the game of seeing itself. Oneness plays the game of being separate, and sometimes, so it seems, realises there is no separation, or indeed anything at all. It all seems very real. Yet it doesn't. To "my" senses it often seems very fragile, all this apparent solidity of manifestation. Memories arise of my longing to be separate no more. It wasn't seen that the longing itself was perfect wholeness, as indeed is everything. The mind strained for some idea of what boundlessness was. Something big and exploding. Something floaty and blissful, expansive and soaring. Somehow, it was seen that whatever arises, just as it is, is what I longed for. The quality of what is seemed to change, yet remained sweetly ordinary. The amazingness of this became apparent. Just sitting, typing, thinking, feeling. Everything you've ever been looking for is right here. The looking itself is divine. Suffering, pain, death, all those things duality demands be reviled, are divine. So many people - teachers, evidently - that speak of duality go on about the end of suffering. How can suffering end? In apparent duality, there must be suffering, so there can be bliss. A Utopian vision is always hopelessly lopsided. And yet, when the manifestation - our apparent world - is observed, the thoughts that come to "me" are that it's not all going down the toilet. Compassion is more accessible, it is even taught in schools. The world is not governed, perhaps, by greed, as so many despairingly opine, but by improvement, by greater care, by - dare I say it, for my character is a cynical one - by love. In the parable of duality, seeking to not be so separate manifests in a lot of selflessness. But there can't be selflessness without rampant self-interest elsewhere. It is so interesting, seeing it all, being it all, sometimes drawing conclusions, but the conclusions aren't anyone's. It is obvious that is is all going just as it must. In beauty and perfection. Just energy darting about in an explosion of life, sweetly familiar, woefully unpredictable, breathtakingly painful, and sometimes euphoric - for no one.