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A Reflection From The Heart of What Is


In a world where most live through habit, conditioning, and following the leader, it can be rare to hear words that go against the grain of normalcy and conformity. But paradoxically, there is no such thing as normalcy or conformity. Even if there is an appearance of conformity, there is boiling creativity and longing for spontaneous expression underneath the characters' surface for no other reason than to express.

You see, all personal mental anguish, whether anxiety, fear, depression, or anger, stems from attempting to mold oneself into a pot never made for you. In fact, there is no mold at all except for the appearance of a moldy dream which seems to say: "be like this!" "don't do that!" "This is right, and that is wrong!" My goodness, it's such a boring song. Yet, so many are lost in the appearance of Maya or this dream of becoming someone: attaining this, validating that, becoming enlightened, or desperately longing for something other than what naturally is.

It's a game

A trap

An apparent merry-go-round that never ends because the one you believe yourself to be is heavily invested in the illusion of time and therefore reaching something. But what is there to reach? Unless you're trying to reach a can of soup on a very high shelf, everything is already here, present, and FULLY ALIVE! This arising play of form is formlessness already and no amount of practice, chanting, or sacrifice will bring you closer to this. For the one who feels so far away from this simplicity, is just mere mental illusions that feel embodied—only seemingly, of course, meaning NOT REAL.

Of course, your desperate hunt for love, God, enlightenment, or freedom isn't real. How could it be? Enlightenment and unconditional love are these words, the random birds chirping, a massive pile of dog shit, baking pies, making sweet love to your partner, and everything and anything that is appearing IS IT AND IS NOT—simultaneously.

Now, of course, the sense of separation will never understand what I am pointing to here, and that's natural by design. How can something pseudo grasp organic intuitiveness? How can a mechanical program grasp something that's orgasmically natural and innate? It can't. And that is why by the very nature of what is, you cannot be taught enlightenment or who you really are. For there is no you to know who you really are.

Does a fish know it's a fish?

Does a cat know it's a cat?

And does a newborn baby know it's human?

No.

These are labels—mere stories. And these stories aren't wrong, but you're not going to find yourself in a story, nor will you ever feel comfortable in a story, label, or any type of name tag; that's actually the squirm! Hiding behind the label and the name tag is what slowly seems to be sucking spontaneity away and leaving one to dry out like a grape on sunny asphalt.

Of course, only seemingly. Because nothing is real, it only seems to be.

For everything already is the absolute emptiness appearing relative and solid, infinity appearing finite, and immortality seeming to appear mortal. For no reason, of course, because this "show" isn't coming from anywhere nor going anywhere. Merely a play of light for no one, by no one.

For those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

X,

Anna




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