Who is it that can be hurt? Pain may arise, but there is no one who can be hurt. In separation, however, the hurt is personal, and sometimes unbearable. We seem to need all kinds of help. Help is always there. The apparent story is a kinder one than it seems it used to be. And my character is not at all averse to asking for help!
That paradox of the character in the story seeming to carry on, and yet there being no one and nothing, isn’t something the mind can resolve. Yet it is blindingly, screamingly obvious; duality is nonduality, twoness is oneness, apprehending itself. We have dreamed ourselves up. If it doesn't seem obvious, perhaps, if you want, you could inquire why that is. What does it matter if an apparent individual is “awake” or not? What is it, exactly, that you are looking for? And perhaps “exactly” is the operating word; some apparent individuals have a very specific idea of what enlightenment, or whatever we’re calling it today, is “like”. It’s like this. This is it.
No one is “enlightened”. No one can awaken. Indeed, that is what is seen. There is no one that can awaken. There is no one, and everything, absolutely everything in the appearance is love. There is no samsara. Some apparent individuals still have the idea that they are separate, most of them in fact, but there is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing that is not Oneness, the Source, Consciousness, aliveness, beingness, whatever the preferred term is.
“I” am not “here”, “I” am lived. There is no choice in any form, just an appearance of choice. What arises in that is lightness, wonder, but it is also very ordinary. A big “wow” that becomes a constant, little “wow” as Tony Parsons' wife Claire says. My character is celebrated, in all her tics (fewer), neuroses (getting “better”) and eccentricities (getting more pronounced!). I do not type; typing happens. I do not sit in front of the computer; there is sitting. And on and on, for everything that seems to arise. But it’s difficult to use language – necessarily dualistic – without resorting to the personal pronoun, and it’s also bad writing, much too stiff and contrived. What the words point to is an energetic shift. It cannot be described. It’s somewhat akin to all that is perceived looping back around upon itself, becoming more itself, and at the same “time” its unsubstantiality is apprehended. Crap, that’s still not it but it’s pretty good!
So hang in there. Apparently, it's worth it. But not hanging in there is perfect too.