Who Is Becoming What?

Oh dear. However fun it is trying to describe absolute being, it's fruitless. How it's possible to apparently be going about your business and yet categorically not be is not easily described. It certainly seems to be strung along in some story of cause and effect, but it's not. It's quite obviously not. This seems to be happening, then that, but there is no time. There is very obviously no time. There is a memory of being a child at a keyboard, of watching the family dog slowly die, of vigourously exercising in the back yard. Yet those things never happened. There is no starving Africa, there is only this. Names on a gravestone are just being, grave-stoning, and do not report of Agnes Cuthbert 1852-1901 Beloved Wife and Mother. She never existed. No one has, or does. The appearance is a miracle, but there's nothing to be done about it. There is no one, so there is no one doing anything, going anywhere. And what seems to be a choice never is. Whatever the story of our lives seems to be, there is nothing happening - only appearance. So the agonies we go through to get it all right, while not exactly fruitless, are no one's to determine. Whatever the character of you is seeming to do, no matter how self-aware or open or spiritual or mentally healthy you try to be, you are doing nothing. You are like a puppet, or a film image. The puppet show or film might be full of characters doing amazing things and having astounding thoughts and feeling incredible feelings, but the actions, thoughts and emotions are not theirs. They have no choice. And the puppeteer is the puppet. There is no filmmaker. We are the light that makes it possible, that makes it seem to happen. But it doesn't matter if this is seen or not, for there is no choice about that either. The thought that seems to come up for me is, have fun with it. In the story that seems to unfold but doesn't, I am becoming good-humoured.