Thursday, January 1, 2015

The Seeker Must Die

Be what you never thought you were or could be.

Be what you most feared to be.



As insubstantial as a thought:

For we are energy, which is thought born,

And no thought can be real.

For in the infinite reality beyond what we think of as reality, there is no separate object to perceive, about which to think.

Your Infinite I exists there.

Your Infinite I is one with infinite Love.

You are its creation.

Your life story and everything attached to it is its creation.

Creation is a work of art.

The cosmos is a love story.

The nightmare appears to be when we believe the voice of unreason, of impossibility.

It is impossible for Love not to be, for Love is all there is, the first cause of any existence.

Space and time are projections in the Mind.

Where we see separate objects and subjects, Love sees symbols and opportunities for its own demonstration.

The purpose of all is Love.

Loves knows itself perfectly and without pause.

All purposes and stories are known to it.

All stories are perfect demonstrations of Love.

Sometimes, for the purpose of the story, Love appears veiled. There appears to be a subjective experience of a lack of Love, a lack of light, or whatever.

Everything you really want, everything you really need, is a symbol of the only thing you ever need. It takes all those forms in order to demonstrate its nature within duality.

Love, as manifest in the virtual realm of Mind, wants to act. In order for it to act, there must the appearance of separation: the doer, the thing done unto, and the act performed in time and space. Abstractions all, dreamed up and imagined so that Mind can experience what that feels like.

The voice that speaks subconsciously, feeding you its unreal interpretations of the unreal dream that you seem to perceive, telling you that this world of separation is real, is insane.

The Course in Miracles calls this voice ego.

Ego cannot know truth, for ego itself is born of a lie: the belief in separation from Love.

Ego must die, for it was dead to begin with.

It is the voice of death itself.

But seen through the eyes of Love, even seeming death is another form of Love, dressed up for a joke played on ego for the amusement of limitless Mind.

Death is your best friend.

Death is your liberator.

Death is the door to infinity.

When ego dies, Love is revealed.

Love would never abandon us.

Love leaves bread-crumb trails for us to follow in the dark night of delusion.

Love leaves evidence of its nature scattered throughout the dream.

It is all Love. We need only perceive it as it is.

When we learn the language of Love through listening to its teacher-voice, the true meanings of all symbols are opened to us. We no longer need to misinterpret anything.

But we are addicted!

Hooked on drama!

The fear! Look at it, isn’t it scary? RAWRRAWRRAWR. Vampires and zombies and killer AIs. Evil corporations and Satanic elites. Bombs and guns and poisons, massacres and extinctions. Rapists, psychopaths, and unrepentant criminals. Death, danger, and destruction. Chaos and the cries of the damned. Innocence killed, the desecration of all that is holy. War and famine and pestilence. The looming end of the world. Not to mention all the petty annoyances and mundane headaches: in-laws, deadlines, taxes, the flu, and going to the dentist.

Mind has the power to convince its limited projections, these seemingly separate beings, of anything. Even the reality of fear and all attendant lies. It is so convincing, because that’s what makes the story so delightful from the viewpoint of Love.

The journey of awakening is a joy that Mind wants to experience again and again, in all different forms.

But once awakening has occurred, the false-light-and-dark ceases to be and all is revealed in the light of the Truth that always was.

We never lacked for anything. We ourselves, as the true infinite nature, are the missing birthright which we sought for so long. It was with us all along.

Let me tell you about a dream I had some years ago.

I was walking in the woods. The forest seemed dead, no green, no life. Just trunks and a carpet of needles as far as the eye could see.

I was looking for mushrooms. Juicy, tasty mushrooms. When I had found enough, I would make a hot soup and eat it with gusto.

But I found not a single mushroom, though I wandered for hours.

I didn’t want to give up. I knew somehow that the mushrooms were there, if only I could find them.

In my discouragement, I consoled my mind with substitute mushrooms: smooth, dark stones that I gathered into my basket. It was somehow soothing and reassuring to have at least some weight to carry, even if they weren’t the real thing. It was nice to pretend. It was like an act of faith, a symbol of what I knew deep inside. They had no value in themselves, but they stood as placeholders and reminders of what I sought.

After a time, I encountered two beings walking through the woods: the first living things I had seen all day. A pair of women, about sixty or seventy years old, dressed all in white, with an otherworldly glow about them. They were smiling and laughing, enjoying themselves without hurry or worry. A sense of profound peace, joy, and abundance radiated from their presence.

They greeted me like they knew me, like old friends. I courteously returned the greeting. They asked me what I was doing, and I told them I was looking for mushrooms. They spied my basket, and their eyes twinkled with laughter.

“You’ll get a good soup out of those, I bet,” said one. They winked at me mirthfully as though they shared the same mind.

I grinned, a little bit embarrassed. Silly, carrying rocks.

But their demeanor was compassionate and loving. They went their way with an encouraging nod, as if to say, “Keep going, don’t worry about how it looks. You’ll be fine.”

Quite soon after, I finally stopped. I laid down my basket of rocks and just kind of gave up. Like I was naturally ready to stop doing what I had been doing, to stop trying on a personal level. The fool’s errand lost its appeal and I simply was. No urgency, no judgment. The problem I had been struggling with was no longer a problem, it was simply a situation that was what it was. Not even really real. Like a dream.

Right then, like magic, the mushrooms I had been seeking were there in front of me. A big pile of fresh, ready-picked mushrooms, each bigger than the last, neatly stacked at the foot of a tree. More than I could even carry.

An overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief came upon me. Now I remembered! I had picked these for myself before time even existed. I smiled, chuckling gently. The game was over, and I could go home.

This powerful dream has stayed with me, and I will never forget it. The symbolism is obvious.

The seeker stopped seeking. The object of his search never was an object in the world. It was his already, and the imagined object “out there” was merely its symbol. When he lost his attachment to the outer form of the symbol, and to the idea of struggle and lack, he saw clearly.

Those women were in heaven, walking the seeming earth but not of it. They appeared to me as guides and allies. And yet they themselves were only dream figures, symbols.

When the dream’s purpose is complete and the dream body ceases to be, all there is is Mind, waking up and moving on to yet another dream.

We can be lucid. We can be free. We can let go of ourselves and let the Power move us.

We do not use the Force. The Force uses us. This is the secret of the ages, long hidden, now revealed.

Accept the truth, and lies will have no power. Only learn to listen to the still, small voice of truth and you will learn to recognize and reject the voice of the idiot.

“A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” This is life through the lens of ego. Why listen? Why believe? It sure would suck to be ego, and as long as we identify with its voice, then life surely does suck for us.

Embrace death. The seeker is a story with an end. It will end, and only then does the happy dream begin.

A new year, a new beginning. Time is over, and only the calendars and clocks tell us otherwise. We have all the time in the world, in no-time.

What is it for? Love only.

Let’s have a good time. Let’s have beauty and celebration. Let’s heal our ills and comfort one another. Let’s eat and drink and smoke and make love and do all the things we do without guilt or fear. Let’s serve Love, because that’s why we’re here. Let’s enjoy life and forgive all the bad. It only ever seemed like there was anything bad. Love reigns victorious.

Have an awesome new year.

1 comment:

  1. By the way, the idiot voice isn't there to be wiped out or shut out. It will quieten on its own when it has received enough of what it is asking for: to be seen for what it is (error), to be forgiven as the imaginary nothing that it truly is, and to be released from its tormenting attachment. The attachment is the lie believed. Dissolve the lie in the light of the loving truth and be healed of its hold on you.

    Be the love. Answer the call for love. Remember who you are: beyond appearances, no matter what it is you look at, the eyes looking back at you are your own. Not personally - transcendentally.

    The personal you does not transcend. There is no personal you there to transcend anything! We are as thoughts in the mind of God, brothers and sisters in one eternal dream of love, for love, made by love, out of love.