This Shall End Without the Perdition of Souls.

The searching ends now. There is nothing to find but what is. There is nothing that needs to happen but what is happening. There is nothing new to know that will bring further revelation. There are so many fascinating, moving, absorbing stories which cannot yet be enjoyed, for they have too much of the burden of redemption upon them. Redemption is here, now, for there is only here and now, and infinite immediate possibility. You are not that small thing, the constructed identity named Felicity or Gerald, charged with the impossible tasks of perfect life or perfect love. You are what perfect life and perfect love emerges from; simple knowing, pure being, absolute awareness, bare sentience. That which looks, looks for itself, and it is everywhere; it is everything.

Perhaps you're caught up in a lot of analysis and value judgments; maybe there is nothing wrong with exactly what seems to be happening to you. It's fine to agonise, question, desire. It is what is. You can find some Zen or some other tradition to study if you'd really like to explore staying in a certain state of mind that resembles what imagination has deemed is true enlightenment; a state of peace and bliss, lightness, an unconcern with the state of life's story. But perhaps that's not necessary, or even, to a different perception, desirable. Even though life seems very painful,
uncomfortable and difficult, this turmoil is pretty natural and normal for a human being. It won't seem to last, no matter if you take conscious action or not. There is absolutely nothing wrong with how things are, how everything is, how you feel, what you feel, what you desire, and what you think, right here, right now. Relax. There's nothing wrong with you, just exactly as
you are.

All seekers pretty much either give up and live life, or end up finding that reality is exactly as it has always been; the obviousness of it is the punch of the "ah ha" thingy that some people seem to experience. Life as it arises, so rife with discontent, is exactly what was sought, and now seems full of contentment. We are in paradise. This is paradise. It always has been. Value judgments fall by the wayside.

The truth of reality is that nothing exists outside of awareness. Nothing actually exists without awareness' ability to apprehend itself. This void is the ultimate horror for the ego. A delicious, awesome, overwhelming horror that no ego can withstand.

You can't get it wrong. There are no mistakes. And everything, no matter how objectively different from another thing, is the same thing.


Paul Newman and Robert Redford, as Butch and Sundance, here give a good example of feeling the fear and doing it anyway...now off you go into the void!

It Hath Been Taught Us From The Primal State, That He Which Is Was Wish'd Until He Were.

All that needs to be known is already known. There is nothing mysterious about not being able to unravel the mystery. All that can be here, is here; all that is, is; all that is sought is exactly what is, right now, right here. The form of "what is"often seems lingered upon, pondered, sifted for meaning, and turned inside-out for sense. The sense is not found in the form, although the beauty is. The sense is found in the most fundamental whisper of existence; that there is any form at all, that there is any thing at all, is significance that defies all the screaming sub-sets of life's story: the search for purpose, the pursuit of truth, and the quest for resolution. It is so easy to get caught up in these pursuits, for the mind roves and wanders, endlessly unsatisfied; to engage in action, convinced the outcome is the point; and to fret over outcomes outside of the small sphere of influence all egos attempt to maintain. None of the particulars matter, none of them. What they might be is always open to interpretation, repression, mental blinders, transference, and all the other veils the mind puts onto what is. And yet this mind that wants things tidy, that wants it all figured out, that wants to put eternity into a box and call it mine, this mind and ego is what is, as well.

There is nothing more that needs to be known than what is here, all of existence, and the small yet miraculous tools that apprehend it. What you are is not some limited goal or some fleeting life, drowned in the vastness of the universe. That small manoeuvring creature that sometimes wears the mantle of Everything and is named John or Pervez or Maria is not what you are; you are that vast everything, or silent, unquantifiable nothing, and John or Pervez or Mary is an astonishing and extraordinary convenience. The vast cosmos is nothing as well; all of it depends upon its apprehension, by each apparent small parcel of consciousness. Just that it is, is enough. Just that anything is - that is the secret and purpose and meaning that is searched for by each small and seemingly cordoned-off nugget of awareness, and it is a privilege - for no one - to even have the opportunity to search. Many minds have collaborated to envision an ideal of humility and absolute acceptance as the perfect parameters within which to live a life. Happiness through service is lauded as the best way to be. Yet all ways to be are, and all perceptions perceive as they do, and that is just as it must be. What the perception seems to be, whatever that is, is the icing.


The clip is from Antz, a kid's film for grown-ups. "Z" is the narrative character, voiced by Woody Allen. His summing up is a perfect example of the story the ego tells itself when life, just as it is, somehow becomes enough.

And Often Up And Down My Sons Were Toss'd, For Me To Joy and Weep Their Gain And Loss.

Whatever it is that seems to be happening, it is not happening to you. What you are is simply what the happenings take form in. And it doesn't matter how "you" you seem, or how singular, or how special, or how committed, or how despairing, or how rich and full and whole - whatever the happening, the feeling, the thought, the action, even the world-rocking spiritual experience, it is simply an appearance, happening for no one, happening to no purpose other than to happen.

If this concept that the whole of life - all the convincing events, mindful conclusions, and deep feelings when confronted with tragedy or harmony - is just something that rises and falls in unending awareness seems unsatisfactory, then there's nothing wrong with observing, categorising and labeling what is, what seems to be, or what arises. It's fun, and interesting. It's what the (apparent) mind is set up to do, and can do terribly well. There certainly seems to be a phenomenon that Hinduism has described as atma (soul, ego, small self) and Pram-atma (God, awareness, ultimate reality). It may seem that what is being described is awareness (God) arising as individual awareness (ego). You could think of the "individual soul" as the arising story, and the "ultimate reality" as what the individual soul arises in. Perceptively, there is no absolute proof that there are any other individual souls. Absolutely everything, including this blog entry, is what is arising in awareness; all those clues that there are, indeed, other souls are just other bits and pieces arising in awareness. The awareness is total; you are, indeed, everything. The two are one, absolutely. No matter how many scientific tests we conduct, or how many questions you ask me about my human experience, and how carefully and honestly I answer, or how thoroughly we get together and compare our experiences, the tests, the conclusions, the answers, the comparisons, the concepts, are simply the milieu arising in awareness. The story that the mind strings along in time can be important for its conclusions, or important for its mere existence, whatever quality that existence seems to have.

To the ego that has taken on the mantle of all that exists, it is terrifying to simply let be whatever it is that seems to be happening. If it seems impossible to somehow detach, to simply be that awareness that the story comes up in, then perhaps it's possible for the ego to simply accept what is. Life is everything; even the most traumatic events have their place in everything; life is not full without them. This endless moment is what is, and if the mind leaves it alone, there is never anything "wrong". And if the mind doesn't leave it alone, we are back to the story, which seems to be here to stay, and which doesn't need to be changed or run away from. Perhaps all this objective reality, and the mind, and time, and the story, and the fear of death, and the need to make the story a good one, is a gift. Perhaps the story is the point. Maybe we come back, full circle, to the story, and can relish every bit of it: mortality, birth, destruction, creation, insanity, health, and humility in the face of a limitless cosmos.


As the clip from Parenthood illustrates, perhaps it's possible to relish all the ups and downs.