More About The Story.

Fascinating to the mind, thrilling to the emotions, but still just a story. What a story. I remember - or memories arise in awareness, if we're being pedantic - when the barren riverbed of my psyche was flooded, and all the potentialities of humanity revealed. There are no cobwebs in the corners of my humanity! After an apparent lifetime of needing to control it all, the power of absolute surrender overcame me. I yielded, and there was the first whisper of the absolute in my personal myth. I became my courage, and acted my own heroine. The nature of love was shown to me, and the healing power of acceptance was itself accepted, and my own worth was at last unveiled. Anger, lust, and fear took their rightful places, and what had been destructive energy was somehow channeled to creation. Finally, I became the love that was revealed to me. And the fascinating, thrilling creature I had become melted away. There was grief at my death, yet somehow, the story goes on. I describe my own practice, not much different to the proscribed methods of self-enquiry that abound, that are meant to peel away the layers of the onion until the center is reached. And in the center is nothing. My practice was given to me, I didn't seek it, except by trying to destroy myself in the usual ways. But this is just the story. Practice is likely before "awakening" or "liberation" or whatever it is we label it, but it is not necessary. It is available to the drunk under the bridge or the raving schizophrenic or the evil-doing sociopath or the indifferent agnostic. It is everything, it is already that which is, just as it is, and however breathtaking the story seems to be, it is merely a pale reflection of a greater possibility.