Death Should Have Play For Lack Of Work.

It doesn't matter what words are written in this blog or elsewhere to the effect that everything is OK just as it is, perfect in fact, absolutely fitting and the only appearance that could be. The stories will always be ones of questioning, rejecting, resisting, and finally finding a story that fits the needs of comfort, exuberance, or ambivalence. It matters not if, this message being beyond the usual ideas of right and wrong, of choice defining the human condition, and of notions of personal guilt and responsibility, the message is violently rejected; either the story is seen through, or it is not. It is of no consequence whether the dream is dreamed lucidly or unwitting. Whether meaninglessness is embraced as freedom or rejected as despair, embracing or rejecting are not things that can be chosen. Whether it is accepted by the mind, with clarity, that there is no one, and all that seems to happens just happens - to no one - or not, this is what is, whatever mental energies of acceptance or resistance arise. Whether our "true nature", that eternal, infinite, conscious awareness that defies all description is apprehended or not, doesn't mean the source isn't there. We are all that is, whatever the appearance, whatever brand of multifarious possibility seems to be arising. There is no hope, unless there is. And there is.