My Brain More Busy Than The Labouring Spider Weaves Tedious Snares To Trap Mine Enemies.

Thoughts are gifts, from nothing to no one; they are oneness like everything else. Thoughts are not your thoughts, even the ones that say "I can't see that everything is one" or "it's a good idea, having this affair" or "I'm going to teach that son-of-a-bitch a lesson. He can't drive like that and get away with it!". All those thoughts that seem to come together and make up a separate, special "you" that things happen to - they are oneness, being two-ness, life looking at itself. Meditation and self-inquiry, those tools for stilling thought so that oneness seems more obvious, are useful tools, yet not necessary for oneness to be; oneness is, whether it is seen by some separate, delicately constructed persona or not. But you want to see it! You want it more than anything else. You never will. Rachel never will, Bert never will. But Bert or Rachel can fall away, or seem to, and their concerns can be not so absorbing, and their suffering can be pain that seems to come and go, and their joy can be boundless, contained even within the sharp intensity of pain.

People who seek enlightenment come to find something in oneness; something better, something absolute. Nothing less than the Secret of Life will satisfy them; that knowledge of the meaning of life, its true nature; reality, seen clearly, lived completely. There are so many ideas and concepts about what enlightenment is like and what it should be. They have some idea that it should be more than is already the case. Yet this is reality; this is enough. Not only is there never any time but this, every practice reinforces the idea that there is someone to get this, and it isn't already what is. There need be no ah-ha moment, no peeling away each layer of the ego, no goal in some non-existent future. Enlightenment is as easy and natural as breathing, heartbeat, seeing your lover's face. It is here, now, and everything. So don't fret at the incongruency of life unfolding, timelessly, in some unmistakable line of time; this duality is a gift, from life to life itself, so that the only thing that is - awareness, or God, to some - can apprehend itself, in consciousness.

Perhaps the unfolding story can never hold the suffering it seemed, when boundlessness is known; but make no deals with oneness; there are no guarantees; and whatever happens is oneness, no matter what it feels like. The mind's small or large hurts and causes still unfold, for life must see itself, and see itself in all the many guises available. These tiny wonders that are life are but a hint of what truly is, and what truly is, is nothing different from the life that is right now, and the very fact it exists. Don't worry about time in timelessness, or thought's contraction in boundlessness, or imperfection in perfection, or any of the incongruencies that duality affords; or worry away, if that's what comes up. This two-ness is oneness. We are lived, until the living is us, and us the living. You are everything, already.