On the days I imagine myself a separate person it feels like decisions must be made.
I must resolve this and this and this!
Yet Life offers so many options. How the heck can we ever decide? How can we choose (A) when (B) might be the correct answer? And, heaven forbid, what about (C)?
The mind circles around itself like hungry wolves.
No peace exists until the right decision is reached. Or, worse, I’ll make no decision and feel caught, hopeless, lost.
When I feel at home, when the world relaxes beyond the grip of self and other, when awareness rests in itself, decision-making loses its suffering despair.
Decisions arise constantly, but the “I” needn’t decide. It was never the responsibility of the “I” to decide. How in the world had “I” taken on that impossible role?
When I’m home within awareness, feeling the Infinite All as self, thoughts arise constantly sharing their advice. This thought suggests (A) and this thought insists (B) and another thought begs (C). When I’m scattered it feels like a mini-war, an impossible decision. When I’m home, the advisers offer advice and the Chooser chooses. It has nothing to do with a separate “me”.
Decisions are made constantly, but they seem to come from an intuitive knowing, not from the surface of thoughts and opinions. One never knows if one shall turn left or right. Life chooses for its own reasons.
Sometimes I forget and think I am the decider. Just this morning I thought I must decide what to have for breakfast! Oh the agony of that! Eggs or cereal or smoothie? Can you imagine? The hands remembered, though, and reached for the almond butter and peach jelly and bread.
Last summer, for at least a week, at every decision-making juncture I asked, “Who decides, who decides?” Peered closer and closer, watching what really happens in actuality, rather than conceptual understanding. The mind thinks its our Queen or King, but is it really? Does it own that much power?
In truth, I no longer believe I’m a separate “I” somehow differentiated from that yonder glowing sunlit tree, from this shining computer screen, from the chunky yellow coffee cup. However, it’s also tricky to conceptualize that no “I” exists at all.
Perhaps it’s a dance of the larger Self, swinging out to the beyond and back to the particular, waltzing, waltzing, stepping on its own feet, twirling beyond any position the mind attempts to stabilize the dance…