I love that point when amblings and ramblings are seen through, are seen as the penultimate in futility. It hails the crescendo of life’s symphony, the orgasm of orgasms that rebirths and reseats us as what we were before the first ‘me’ thought, our authentic Self.
Life is so difficult. It offers joy and happiness with no guarantees other than their end. It is a constant display of new beginnings which are tied inexorably to painfilled endings. Our lives are the scene of the perfect love story set in a rolling disaster movie where no one gets out alive. I think that’s the recipe for a tear-jerker.
And yet, few of us are truly willing to let go into the soft unknown, the gentle release from this world. We will do most anything to live. Isn’t that fascinating.
With each new experience of the cycle of life we are renewed. It is the reason for all that we do — participating in extreme sports, having passionate sex, entering into meditation, taking deep dives into nature, responding in kind to disasters — manmade and natural, generously giving of ourselves, seeking out flow experiences.
Even having a simple desire met is more than meets the eye. It too, is a flow experience for a tiny bit. That’s why you feel so good when you finally get what you want, even when it is only a new pair of kicks. In that moment you are without desire, You are free of your mind’s yearning.
Each experience isn’t an end unto its self, is not just you having a life, although that is precious too. Each is a way to lose the sense of your separate self.
That is really all anyone seeks … that moment when the separate sense dissolves. Extreme fear, the fear that comes with meeting death face to face does it, as does a powerful orgasm. Dropping into meditation, meeting the emptiness the separate sense dissolves. Nature, for many, has a way of blending into and through us when we are adept in such a way that we become the path less traveled. Intense suffering instantly clears the mind of all that is known, drops us into blessed uncertainty and opens up states of ecstatic love. 9/11 did that for many — so much kindness in the middle of chaos — until experience shifted, replaced by new stories with less uncertainty.
Our lives take us time and again into the emptiness, giving glimpses of the truth of us — of our True Nature.
I wonder if we could survive without these dips into Truth. I don’t think so. We would shrivel up and die without the hydration of our genuine authenticity.
What drops your mind, even for a second or two? The answer can be found in what you currently search for, whether you call it that or not? That which you believe will make life more livable is a pointer to your grail.
All experience is a gift. It is the holy grail for it opens into Truth when met completely, fully, when the mind lets go into the experiencing.
Through our experiencing the futility is seen and rejection, resistance to our life as it is, ceases. Sometimes it isn’t noticed by the consciousness streaming through the individuated yet not individuated aspect of the One — you — until a new experience brings the lack of reference points for the old into the light of awareness.
A separate self can not do anything for itself, or to another, at all. Nothing to do. Nothing to awaken to. No one who progresses and nowhere to progress towards. Nothing to resist nor a resister. And yet, all the practices, all the teachers and students, all the books, seminars and retreats play their role in the experiencing that opens through grace into futility.
May the fullness of futility find you open and ready!
“After the last vestiges of futility work their way through your system, the terror begins to subside and in deep gratitude, your cells release their hold on the known. This is the first time that you genuinely relax your death grip on life. Your fists unclench and breath moves with ease throughout your entire body. No more illusions of better, best, or not, for you. You’re ready and willing; Source is able. Now that’s a delightfully divine fusion of light and matter!” Card #22 Self-Improvement, The Wild Child