What Is This Like?

It is like it is. This is it. Whatever seems to be happening is absolute wholeness and unconditional love, or whatever you care to label it. It's exactly like it always was, but seen for what it is, without fearful filters. Everything still happens just as it always has seemed to. The difference seems to be the lack of quiet desperation. There is no need for reassurance that everything will be OK, there is no one who needs that reassurance. Goals come up, urges to create, but they are enjoyed for what they are. Fear comes up, doubt, resistance, all of that, yet it isn't so overwhelming; there is no one to be threatened. There is a sense of eternity and infinity within the contraction of life, a little life, just trundling along as it always has seemed to. Questions arise, but only in the course of things, not The Big Question. There is no one to ask it. Nor anyone to answer. There's not the extra added layer of a little someone, all alone, needing to be loved and taken care of and afraid of dying. The moment of death has happened. The freedom from the bondage of self is something a lot of friends of mine hold in high esteem. The freedom is immense, much more profound than most apparent individuals suspect. It is like nothing else; it is like nothing at all.