I start laughing whenever I try to write. Nothing is true, so why bother. It’s all pointers and even that is going too far. I enjoy reading the words other characters in this play string together and seeing where they go, as well as where they don’t, what lines are drawn in the sand unawares, what tidbits of insight hide in plain sight.

Some are fun. Others kind of stink up the place. Some are a little grandiose for my taste, but what do I know. Nothing, right? None of them are wrong although some are a ways off base to the understanding that resides here. They tickle my curiosity, a wonderment as to what truths they hold dear, what experiences appeared in their lives to arrive at that point.

For some, it’s obvious, painfully so. Others are not quite so easy to see. It adds weight to the theory of karmic contracts or just simple karma. Family members, people who were raised by the same parents, in roughly the same way, end up living out entirely different threads for what appears to be no reason at all.  

Truth is personal, time-tested, experience generated, a part of each character’s story. We each create our own truths, some we adopt, some we create, some are simply too big to fail in the consensus reality sense. If you’re looking for the one BIG truth, you’ll be looking a very long time. The search for truth is one of the big deceivers.

I giggle at that statement. I just wrote many words pointing to things that don’t exist as most think, such as you, truth, and time …  just for starters. That’s not to say that they don’t exist. It’s just saying, not as you think.

Wherever your focus lies, there lies your truth, your reality. The focus here seems to have glitched out. It used to be narrow, appreciative of things, the 10,000 things as they say in Taoism. I was, of course, one of those things, the central figure in my story. We all are the center of our own worlds until we see there is no center to be had, no world as such.

The broader the focus, the more that is included in our world. There were times that I thought my focus could not broaden any more, that the world would shift out of focus entirely were one more centimeter granted it. That’s the purpose of meditation, of the inner work that releases the ties that bind, the traumas we hold onto, the constrictions that maintain the contracted sense of self.

One day that focus popped. It wasn’t a widening, a broadening of focus. It was no focus. The 10,000 things were seen to be life life-ing, not things thing-ing and me, this character in the play, wasn’t a thing, not even my thing, my avatar, my anything. it was simply part of life life-ing. Ideas of my or me, mine or whatever were gone.

It’s kind of a joke, silly and fun, yet peaceful and unengaged. Surprisingly, stuff still gets done. There’s just not any thought about how it will or should look. It’s what I call basic doing. The character lives on. The frenetic doer is gone.

That seems funny to me. How does seeing what this is, change the inner landscape of the character who is simply a character in the play of life?

Could be that it adds to the chest of experiences therefore organically altering the inner blueprint that manifests as the outer world. Maybe. It could also be that without the arguments with life, life manifest more simply. It’s a mystery.

Love me a mystery.  

Like this, and want to read more? Check out my latest book, Actuality: infinity at play. It’s designed to repair the severed link between the splendor of our experience and the mystery of Actuality. https://amzn.to/3Rd4CTY

Image: Josephine Wall (one of my favorite artists in the world)