Something; And Scarce So Much: Nothing, Indeed.

The incongruency of the life of my character continuing on as ever - with ever more intensity - and the pure sense that nothing is happening, that life is dream-like, is much easier to take. Every sensation, thought and feeling is ever more itself, yet the illusion is seen through. That point of awareness we call ourselves that seems so small and lonely and contracted, it is everything. Whatever it is that seems to be, whether it be pain or struggle or joy or peace, the garden, a crowd on the train, the angry wife, the roomful of sweating Bikram Yoga disciples, or a good film (saw The Dark Knight last night - Heath Ledger deserved his posthumous Oscar - the "making the pencil disappear" scene is classic), that is wholeness. I'll admit to some thoughts arising of wanting to be more selfless, wanting to conduct my life purely along the lines of my terribly prohibitive moral code, wanting the knot of worry in my chest to loosen, wanting more peace and less struggle. But strangely, as "time" seems to unfold, these things come to pass. There seems to be less fear, and more peace. There seems to be the energy available to contact all the people (most of them anyway) in my life I'm concerned about, or feel duty-bound to let know the details of my life; there seems to be more creation, less destruction; there seems to be both time and ability to help others that are seeking my help for whatever apparent reasons. Nothing hangs on the circumstances of life. There is no pressure to "get it right" so getting it "right" is easier. There is nothing wrong with the ego, and when ego-fears arise, it is just another face of oneness, of all-embracing, unconditional love; but, somehow in reverse to practice, ego-concerns slip away. There is nothing for them to hook onto, or at least it seems there is less. There is precious little to reject the pain of life, so the pain isn't seen as something to be avoided; there is precious little that is inclined to avoid. But even the avoidance is perfect. There is nothing out of place, there couldn't be. Many people get to this by doing their best, in separation, to accept what is, no matter what it is. But there is no one who can accept or not accept; if resistance arises, that is perfect too. We are all exactly where we are; and where we are is always just as it must be. And none of it matters a jot.