I’m sitting here laughing at myself. I’m hilarious. I’m also mystical magical miraculous beyond understanding. How in the dickens did I even happen? I–this me, this you, this world. It makes absolutely no sense at all. This arises, a glorious dance of improvisation, as it will, is made of the only stuff that is, consciousness, the same stuff that appears as all things, all dimensions, all that is known and knowing itself. It’s a frickin’ mystery. Isn’t that fun!

Aren’t we mysterious!

Consciousness is all and here we go again … even the word all implies many options that don’t actually exist and yet appear as reality, are experienced as being real: none or not quite all, a lot, a few or even one. In language that implies nouns where there aren’t any, verbs without action, failure to communicate is built right in.

We have a world that by all rights shouldn’t even be and language that can’t touch the majestic reality of what is. Perhaps we all should just shut up but what fun would that be?

See why I’m laughing.

It really doesn’t matter what word is used — none of them mean anything at all. They simply point to an empty fullness that can be anything anyone wants, the anything that is everything and no thing, the anyone who is no one but This, the wanting that arises without someone wanting it.

I’m still laughing. Are you?

There is such amazing joy here, joy without reason for there is none, joy without meaning for that’s the currency of separation. We are not what you think. This is not what you fear or hope for. We, This that Is, is aliveness dancing. joy unbound by any idea, beyond restriction by words. Any words, mine included, are mere beggars inviting us to dance, to sing and play.

Dear sweet heart, may I have this dance?

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