Sunday, 8 February 2009
This is big, yet big doesn't begin to cover it. We are not sentenced to live in duality. Where there is clarity about this, there is often a sense of resignation, of "well, I'm not going to get it anyway, so I'd better make the best of this life." There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Like everything else, it is mere appearance, and seemingly unfolds in perfection and wholeness. But when the dreamer dies, when the seeker drops away, when there is no one there, but just life, happening to no one - then the boundlessness of what we are is evident. Life isn't so narrow and fear-driven. Fears may arise, the story may seem to carry on, everything carries on much as it always did, but apparently much more smoothly and efficiently. Some of the old longings and wants and needs still may seem to arise, there may be loss and grief and heartache, all of it may seem intense and involving, but there is little sense of that silent desperation that it all needs to be terribly important, to mean so much. Its meaning is its apparent existence, the great play of life. It can be seen that there is no duality, no me or you, object or subject, the wall over there and the chair over here, whilst still in the appearance of it. It cannot be described. But it can be sensed. Even behind the thickest veil of personal identity, there is nothing but this. It is even the dream of separation. This is everything, and "you" are that.