Years back, my favorite expression was, “What about this can’t you love?” It kind of still is, but I understand it totally differently and probably would use another word besides love, although love when understood for what it actually is, works beautifully.

This. Just this. Only this. This alone. This this. Yeah. Life exactly as it is, you exactly as you are.

What if you didn’t have to fix yourself, improve or alter anything? Can you imagine the freedom in that? And what if you offered that freedom to everyone you come across?

But … I don’t like myself and the world as it is, maybe not wholesale, but bits and pieces of it. Loving this as it is, is not the way we’ve been conditioned, now is it? Be honest.

We’ve been told to figure it out, to improve ourselves and our circumstances, to get a grip, to work hard. Few if any were ever told that they are exquisite as they are. What if everything we did or said flowed out of trust in our absolute exquisiteness, and that of others and the world? Oh yeah, magic!

Stop a moment and feel into that. Even if no one but you held that close to your heart, life, at least yours, would change instantly, and if yours changed it couldn’t help but ripple out into the world, offering its salve of inherent thisness to everyone and everything it encountered.

People talk about changing the world and do so by attempting to exert their will onto it.

That’s the conditioned way, the way of every atrocity, trauma, and harm, including environmental events that are not simply bad sh*t happening but arise out of levels of consciousness. Basically at its core, every wound imaginable is encased in an attempt to control circumstances, to avoid harm, that went awry. We live in a world where man’s will is perpetually attempting to override This That Only Is.

But, of course, this apparent distortion, the idea of awry and in sync, of things and people needing fixed, is This That Only Is too. There is nothing that is not. In this age, this version of now, we are experiencing our world manifesting out of the lower realms of consciousness, the fear belt, the field of judgement, of self-protection and others be damned. It’s not punishment. It’s life showing us where we are hanging out. It does that. It can’t not.

We are an infinite feedback loop, eternally transforming collective consciousness being played out and played back. Since we are not two, even if we’ve personally made it through the fear, we still get to experience the upheaval of the whole. It’s experienced differently, or mostly so, depending on how far through the crucible we’ve come.

No one goes to heaven alone, and no, I’m not talking about the religious version. I am speaking of an enlightened world experience, of the bodhi sattva vow, the awakening of the entirety. Pain continues while one willing receptacle remains. Willing is a matter of consciousness, and that appears as choices made and lifestyles lived, although it is both simpler and more complex than that.

There are no awakened beings. There is however, awakening Beingness.

Seeing our innate beauty, our exquisiteness, allows love to ripple into the world, to touch the hearts and souls of others. It allows us to actually be the change we want to see. We cannot experience a loving world while rippling anger and judgement, pain and angst. We unwittingly add more of what we resist to the river and find ourselves swimming in a polluted sea.

We are ripples of infinite aliveness, the actuality in form, and something indescribably more that that. What we are always ripples, rubbing up against other ripples, leaving fresh patterns in our wakes, in life’s wake. We are cosmically connected patterns of light. We appear to be you and me, but there is only us, the unity self, the unimaginable savior, This That Is.

Under our stories of lack and loss, of harm and hate, and perhaps even throughout them, we are the rising sun, the red-headed bird, the smell of cut grass, the wind in the trees, the bringer of constant change that powers life, animating it, moving its expressions, vivifying the stories we call life, rippling unceasingly across infinity.

So really, what about This can’t you love?

Image: ar.inspiredpencil.com

Amaya Gayle is the author of Actuality; infinity at play, published by New Saram Press. https://amzn.to/3Rd4CTY