I have zero control. I know you want me to say that’s just not true but what can I say, I cannot lie to make you feel better or to make myself feel better. I don’t work that way. Sometimes it would be nice if I could. Darn it all! It is what it is. I am what I am.
I don’t even have control of my reactions. Reactions happen. They are sometimes startling in their ferociousness. Sophie, that beautiful pup, is teaching me so much, really driving it home. She is pushing every button that can be pushed, at once loving and fun, devilish and maddening matched only by my own dichotomies, my black and white split, the yin-yang of Amaya.
You’d think that recognizing one’s true nature would end that nonsense, wouldn’t you, that it would pull the plug on the outer reflection of the inner duel. That’s a reason, perhaps one of the main reasons, that drives people to meditate, to seek out teacher after teacher, to inhale all things spiritual — to finally be free of that sticky icky sicky darkness within and in achieving that, to live a life of love and light, free of the consequences of duality.
If only it were so
It doesn’t work that way or hasn’t for me. I’m sure I’m much worse than you, the unsurpassed hardcase, the badass of all badassery. Don’t you think? It’s as good a story as any. Believing it can free you to continue along the path of great expectations where you eventually get what you seek.
The problem is … don’t you hate sentences that start with that … true nature has nothing to do with the manifested world. It doesn’t change it, make it pretty or sugary pink, or magically turn the darkness into light. It just reveals it for what it is. The darkness isn’t real, but neither is the light — not real the way we think, not able to stand alone, not endowed with the physical material substantial quality of thingness.
In the wee hours of night, when you ache for healing of body mind or soul, when you are striking a bargain with what you see as something or someone able to bestow goodness, when you are repeating your mantra to make it so, remember — nothing is real, not what you seek, not what you reject. Seeking, rejecting are just ways you keep the game alive.
Everything is real — in a totally useless-to-a-you way but you can’t see that until the push-pull lever within cracks and shatters.
When we seek the light and love, a return to our innocent perfection, seeing it as the only truth if we can but find it, we miss the glaringly obvious point that is so poignantly honestly viscerally dream-crushingly revealed by clear seeing clear being of true nature. None of it is what we think — not the darkness, not the light, not even the cherished bodymind.
It’s all a hoax perpetuated by This, as This, from This, in This. It’s all This! Expanding. Playing. Exploring. Splitting. Expressing. Reforming. Exploding. Contracting.
I am not. This is. I don’t control anything. I am a thing controlled. And … I am This which see through these eyes, that feels through these nerves, in whose awareness thoughts appear. It’s funny. I am the all, but I can’t know it, deeply absolutely without one single doubt, while I cling to what’s-in-it-for-Amaya. That’s what a desire for control is — a hope, a prayer, a desperate bonding — bondage to the me thought.