Dear Reader,
Imagine watching your hands crochet a lace skirt, watching your feets pad along the path, your voice singing, your thumb tapping songs on a glass screen and never feeling like there is a you doing or not doing anything or nothing.
Imagine the feeling that there are no separate things. No one thing being pummeled about by other things like a universe of ping pong balls. No longer feeling like this is a universe filled with razor sharp edges that all feel like barriers between your broken heart and a love light you just know must be there somewhere.
Imagine knowing always that there is no other more better or next, that what seems to appear is indeed always it. Wouldn't there be a seamless ease and an unspeakable quietude no matter what seems to appear, when all hope and fear and need of a never arising next is gone?
Imagine no longer trying to change or fix yourself or others or the world as you know without a doubt that life is, just as it seems to appear, utterly perfect.
Imagine knowing that no one, including you, is the instigator of their thoughts feelings or actions, that life indeed does itself, totally spontaneously. Imagine knowing and feeling always that there are no separate things or feelings or thoughts or moments. That there is no right or wrong way to feel or think or act or live or love or die.
Imagine knowing you and everyone you love or have ever loved is a dream character in a play that no one wrote, that sings itself, that all measurement and dimension and time and love are made up. Imagine knowing that this life just as it seems to appear is the only life you can ever know, and there is no one who can escape.
Imagine knowing deeply that although love and beauty arise only in the dream through your beautiful eyes, and that there are no others, you can only see your imaginary reflection in this love dance with others.
Imagine that this emptiness you have tried to fill your entire life is true. That you are a flowing empty thought dream and are ultimately alone, yet here you are, most magically appearing dancing in the grand canyon of love.
Some of these words will slide into boxes of the already known. Some may skip out of the grooves of habitual thought patterns and catapult you out of the assumption of knowing into an edgeless incertitude.
Shadows flicker and swirl across and through your feet your face your heart in this dance without a center or edge. Light and wind stream from everywhere from nowhere from inside and outside, there is no source to the echo that reverberates through your thought stream as you are not separate from it. You cannot find separate thoughts, separate feelings, separate moments, or anything truly to hold onto or any place to rest.
You are the looking for certitude, the fear of unknowing, the fear of disappearing in this love dance with which you long to merge. You cannot merge with it as you are it. You have never been separate from what’s going on, this beautiful flow of life, this fleeting wind ballet that seems to embrace you and push and pull you along.
You are the pushing and pulling, the trying to hold it to capture it to make permanent this magic that you sense lies behind your shadow. But there is nothing painting your shadow, no one fills your shoes and sweeps you across the dance floor. There is no floor to stand on to dance on to lie upon when you die.
You are the prism between the imaginary known and the unknowable pouring color and light into the dream. Flooding the pages of your story with love and beauty that disappear the moment these words paint you. Just like this, as it has always been yet never was nor ever will be, you are this ever emerging ever wilting blooming flower of life feeling it’s own tender vibrant aliveness through the symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition.
Painted with watercolor tears in the river of song, written with sky in sky, with your very breath and heartbeat life sings you as you sing these very words within which you emerge.
I’m not here to help you or heal you. I know you are not broken. I cannot give you anything. Or nothing. I cannot share this sublime emptiness as there is no one who has it. I will not tell you more lies for you to weave into your wall of fear of unknowing.
This is it coyote.
Whatever it looks or feels like.
There is no other better more or next.
You as an imaginary persona are utterly alone. If it’s realized by that thing you call your brain that there are no separate things or moments or selves or others there is a sublime bittersweet aloneness as you discover you exist only as an imaginary persona who can only see herself in others eyes.
You are a sourceless reflection, an echo of an echo, a streaming thought dream through which awareness is aware of being aware.
Enlightenment is more marvelous than I could have ever dreamed or wished for. But it is not about escaping your beautiful humanness. All the normal human emotions flow. There is simply no one feeling them. There never was. Life still flows along its natural course. It simply is not happening to someone. It never was. No one has ever done or not done anything or nothing. There is no one to have or not have a self. You cannot let go of it, you exist only as an imaginary self.
Imagine watching your hands crochet a lace skirt, watching your feets pad along the path, your voice singing, your thumb tapping songs on a glass screen and never feeling like there is a you doing or not doing anything or nothing.
Imagine the feeling that there are no separate things. No one thing being pummeled about by other things like a universe of ping pong balls. No longer feeling like this is a universe filled with razor sharp edges that all feel like barriers between your broken heart and a love light you just know must be there somewhere.
Imagine knowing always that there is no other more better or next, that what seems to appear is indeed always it. Wouldn't there be a seamless ease and an unspeakable quietude no matter what seems to appear, when all hope and fear and need of a never arising next is gone?
Imagine no longer trying to change or fix yourself or others or the world as you know without a doubt that life is, just as it seems to appear, utterly perfect.
Imagine knowing that no one, including you, is the instigator of their thoughts feelings or actions, that life indeed does itself, totally spontaneously. Imagine knowing and feeling always that there are no separate things or feelings or thoughts or moments. That there is no right or wrong way to feel or think or act or live or love or die.
Imagine knowing you and everyone you love or have ever loved is a dream character in a play that no one wrote, that sings itself, that all measurement and dimension and time and love are made up. Imagine knowing that this life just as it seems to appear is the only life you can ever know, and there is no one who can escape.
Imagine knowing deeply that although love and beauty arise only in the dream through your beautiful eyes, and that there are no others, you can only see your imaginary reflection in this love dance with others.
Imagine that this emptiness you have tried to fill your entire life is true. That you are a flowing empty thought dream and are ultimately alone, yet here you are, most magically appearing dancing in the grand canyon of love.
Some of these words will slide into boxes of the already known. Some may skip out of the grooves of habitual thought patterns and catapult you out of the assumption of knowing into an edgeless incertitude.
Shadows flicker and swirl across and through your feet your face your heart in this dance without a center or edge. Light and wind stream from everywhere from nowhere from inside and outside, there is no source to the echo that reverberates through your thought stream as you are not separate from it. You cannot find separate thoughts, separate feelings, separate moments, or anything truly to hold onto or any place to rest.
You are the looking for certitude, the fear of unknowing, the fear of disappearing in this love dance with which you long to merge. You cannot merge with it as you are it. You have never been separate from what’s going on, this beautiful flow of life, this fleeting wind ballet that seems to embrace you and push and pull you along.
You are the pushing and pulling, the trying to hold it to capture it to make permanent this magic that you sense lies behind your shadow. But there is nothing painting your shadow, no one fills your shoes and sweeps you across the dance floor. There is no floor to stand on to dance on to lie upon when you die.
You are the prism between the imaginary known and the unknowable pouring color and light into the dream. Flooding the pages of your story with love and beauty that disappear the moment these words paint you. Just like this, as it has always been yet never was nor ever will be, you are this ever emerging ever wilting blooming flower of life feeling it’s own tender vibrant aliveness through the symphony of perception and its inseparable recognition.
Painted with watercolor tears in the river of song, written with sky in sky, with your very breath and heartbeat life sings you as you sing these very words within which you emerge.
I’m not here to help you or heal you. I know you are not broken. I cannot give you anything. Or nothing. I cannot share this sublime emptiness as there is no one who has it. I will not tell you more lies for you to weave into your wall of fear of unknowing.
This is it coyote.
Whatever it looks or feels like.
There is no other better more or next.
You as an imaginary persona are utterly alone. If it’s realized by that thing you call your brain that there are no separate things or moments or selves or others there is a sublime bittersweet aloneness as you discover you exist only as an imaginary persona who can only see herself in others eyes.
You are a sourceless reflection, an echo of an echo, a streaming thought dream through which awareness is aware of being aware.
Enlightenment is more marvelous than I could have ever dreamed or wished for. But it is not about escaping your beautiful humanness. All the normal human emotions flow. There is simply no one feeling them. There never was. Life still flows along its natural course. It simply is not happening to someone. It never was. No one has ever done or not done anything or nothing. There is no one to have or not have a self. You cannot let go of it, you exist only as an imaginary self.
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