Simply here once again

Riipples

Ripples

Don’t we just laugh at ourselves, these strange seemingly-solid creatures who change our minds again and again and again?

One minute we’re coming and the next we’re leaving.  One minute we’re writing and the next we’re swearing never to write again.  One minute we’re attempting to hold together a solid sense of self and the next…well, does it matter any more?

We’re Life.

We’re Life moving, changing, dancing, singing, drinking tea, making mistakes, laughing, frowning, feeling deep-down pain or embarrassment, skipping, wielding a cane, tasting an oh-so-delicious banana split.

We’re LIFE!  This is amazing when you start to grok it with your whole being.

Within Life, thoughts come and go.  Within Life, feelings arise and fall away.  Within Life, actions appear.  Choosing appears.  Decisions happen.

But who is this phantom Chooser, Doer, Decision-maker?  I used to think it was me.  A thought appeared in the brain and a mini-me existing inside this head would ponder all the alternatives.  Should I, shouldn’t I?  Yes, no or maybe so?  An endless cycle of trying-to-figure it out ensued.

Then a decision appeared and a thought accompanied it, “I decided to write a blog again!” or “I will never write a blog here again!” and the inner-me ascertained so certainly, “I made that decision, of course I did.”

It’s the way separate selves view themselves.  As somehow apart from the river of life, as somehow independent creatures making independent decisions.

How interesting to discover that in direct experience (without the reference of the mind) it doesn’t appear to happen that way.  Thoughts arise.  Feelings appear.  And yet no doer or thinker or chooser or decider can be located.  Look inside, right now, and see, if you’re inclined.  (If you’re not inclined, never-you-mind, because are you choosing that either?)

It’s such a relief to drop away from all that sense of responsibility and to discover that something already exists prior to the separate decision-maker.  Something that can be so fully trusted and allowed and embraced.  Something that IS in every single waltz and tango and goodbye and hug and weeping tears.  Something that has never deserted us since the moment we birthed unto the planet, and maybe before, and always after.

I stand in awe and prickling tears before this truth–which can never be fully explained or made into an object–and who knows which way the river flows now and now and now again?

 

 

 

 

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