There’s Only a Continuum of Sentience Between You and the Universe.

Picture yourself in the middle of a sentient universe, a conscious being who reaches within because there is nothing outside. It reaches within. It folds upon itself, exploring different levels of sentience until energy is manifested and matter is formed. I want you to picture that as a process of folding upon itself and unfolding out into experience.

This sentience is going within to know itself. It is perceiving itself on different levels, as pure intelligence, then as sound, and then as light. After becoming light, this supreme being experiences itself as cosmos, as galaxies, and finally as planetary existence.

It is not that it is creating sound and then it creates light, and then it creates stars, and then it creates planets, and then it creates things. It’s more that every layer is itself and it has a continuous unfolding of consciousness—knowing itself at different levels.

To give an example of how this is a continuum you may consider the nature of matter itself. Everything that we call matter is composed of atomic particles, and each atom is composed of subatomic particles, electrons, protons, neutrons, etc. Each one of these particles is a packet of energy, a vibration that exists for a time. The relationship between these particles is what creates what we know as the material world.

From the moment when there is light in the Universe, this same light has been coming together as vibration creating stars, creating galaxies, creating planets, creating moons, people, plants, animals, rocks and everything. There is no substantial difference between matter and energy. It is all a continuum. Matter is slowed down energy. The only distinction between matter and energy is in our conception of it, how we relate to it, how we think of it, but it is all part of the same continuum.

In that same way, there is no real difference between the mind of God and the physical universe. It is all a continuum of sentience.

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The Stirring of my Beloved

The undifferentiated silence becomes distinct by the introduction of sound and movement. Having forgotten infinite lifetimes, this new appearance of appearance, grabs the attention.

I begin to forget the eternal emptiness. I hear the laughter. I feel the love of the mother. I touch with my tiny hands, and the touch is joyous in the extreme. I experience searing pain and suffering, and the suffering is like fire innundating all my senses. I laugh. I hope. I experience. I become.

In the becoming I transform myself. I create many me’s from expectation, arrogance, and hopefulness. I create the illusion of suffering. I create the illusion of the importance of my life. I create even the fiction of a spiritual path––the reading of the books, the listening to the teachers. I create an expectation of liberation. I create the fiction of salvation. I create aspirations. And in the creation of aspirations I immerse myself more and more in the illusion that what happens to me is somehow of any importance whatsoever.

And so on I continue with the chain,
the unending chain of life,
enlightenment,
and nothingness.

Nothing is permanent.
Not even the experience of the empty
voidness of the void.
Life runs out.
Death runs out.
Ignorance runs out when I realize
the eternal truth of the eternal empty void.

And the experience of enlightenment
and the dissolution of illusion
also ends with the forgetting of the illusion.
It ends with the stirring of experience.
Unending chain.
A cosmic breath between creation and dissolution.
The long night of Brahma.
The eternal dance of the empty void and her beloved, her lover,
the stirring of the experience.

A Whisper of Silence, this Self.

I do not have a name for myself. I simply exist without tag or form, moving without comparing any one moment with any other moment.

There is just a presence in the liquid movement all around, the flowing of the fields of light, the forgetting the words and their meanings. There is just the peaceful communion with the reality that extinguishes all illusions.

Abiding in this state I forget that there was such a thing as the world. I forget the mere possibility of existence, of sound, of light, of movement, of time. I forget, living in this eternal space, that there is a word for that space. I forget the opposite of what is. I forget the distinction between self and it.

In that forgetfulness, a slight vibration surprisingly comes. It happened, and it went. I almost missed it, almost feel that it did not happen at all. Maybe it did not happen. Maybe that slight stirring comes only from within to put a tiny mark on the perfection of that infinite silence. Maybe it’s just a habit that I have accumulated over countless dreams of existence––a slight distortion of the darkness.

It comes. It goes. It’s a whisper of silence.

In this Emptiness I Forget

I let go, slowly but surely, all ideas of God, of eternal peace, of definitive knowledge. I let go of the idea that this person will love me forever. I let go of my name. I let go of my title. I let go of the ideas that I held on to. The more I see the emptiness––the expansive presence of the ocean covering and holding the light of every star––the bigger this nothingness becomes, and the more I fail to grasp on the stream of self-important thoughts.

Ordinary life, then, becomes the dream that vanishes upon the awakening of the soul. It no longer matters what happens to me in this life, in my previous life, and in all the chains of incarnations. I am no longer concerned with what will happen to me today, tomorrow, next year, after rebirth, after that life, in other incarnations. That stream of movement and happenings, I know it to be nothing but the subtle vibrations of a mind that moves, of a life that stirs, of the fire of existence.

In this emptiness I forget myself. In this emptiness, the entire drama of existence becomes as nothing but the flickering lights, the little shadows that come across the eyes when sleeping. It no longer becomes important, that life. There no longer seems to be a difference between being human or animal, rock, tree. It no longer seems different to be word or breath, to be flower or bee. I can no longer put my finger on the difference between being mountain or poem, between being the fluttering butterfly in the heart of a young girl or being the industrious burrowing of an anthill.

There is no longer an important difference between the radiant light flowing from the heart of the sun and the lightning strike flowing through a path of emptiness, emanating, spreading light and death. There is no longer any difference between any one thing and any other thing.

I abide in this state of not being; at union with the eternal presence; at-one-ment through the floating, deeply refreshing sensation of being a simple center in the womb of the mother; growing in eternal peace and sleep. I revel in this sweet dissolution in the forgetfulness of life and death.

 

 

I Am the Stirring in the Void

I sit in the midst of an ocean of light, sound and silence. I am nothing. I am empty. I am the flicker of the empty void. I am the organizer of experience.

I identify myself with the contents of this body. I identify myself with the memories; memories of existing earlier today; memories of yesterday, of last week; memories of years ago.

I say “I am”, “I did”, “I was”, “I came”, “I sinned”, “I killed”, “I lied”, “I betrayed”, “I did”, “I accomplished”, “I attained”, “I saved”, “I am”, “I say”, “I did”; but I know fully well that none of those things ever happened to me. They are memories stored in this body. They are events hinted at me.

All my memories of the past are like subtle shadows that begin to fade away as the dream fades away into incomprehensible nothingness, as I awake and take on this new life and this new body full of sensations, touching space, hearing, listening, moving.

I find myself in this body, having the tenuous sensation of a dream that fades away. I know myself as the meaningless flicker, the stirring in the void, forever falling into identification with the shadows of lights, the sound, the move, the heat, the refuge against the cold night.

 

The Weapons of Humanity (pt. 4: The Coin)

The coin is what has been perverted the most, hacked to make our understanding obfuscated and our power unseen. We have been duped with respect to the coin.

The coin of the tarot is the wealth of the world. It is the hidden gem, the hidden secret that awakens the power of the heart. It is the transformed soul, and its radiance the richness of the world.

We have been lied to, however. We have been told that the true coin is this thing that passes for money. Money, paper money, electronic money–it’s a false thing that is used instead of real wealth. The belief that we have put on it makes us believe that the true wealth is there, and that currency is the real coin. That is not the real coin. It’s a fake program. It’s a program that has been introduced into our consciousness through the artifice of civilization.

The whole civilization has been an expansion pack in the evolutionary program we are playing in this virtual reality world called Earth. And the coin was introduced as a form of exchange and of creation. Basically, it has become the code for the ability to upgrade your experience. We can use the currency to put walls around us and to make our house bigger or prettier; to change the quality of the food you eat; to change this table for another one. That’s the magic that is channeled through the coin–and currency is a visible, exchangeable token of the power of the true coin.

Now, the coin is something that is free to everyone. It is inherent in being human. Ah! But this idea is anathema to everyone in modernity. “That won’t work,” they say. “You have to have a limit; and you have to accumulate it and work for it, fight for it, kill for it, destroy populations for it, and to hoard it.”

But what if the true coin is the transformed heart resplandecent with the light of creation? And what if we all have access to it and not just humans but all my relations–that is to say, All Beings Everywhere? All beings everywhere have the supreme consciousness of the universe shining its golden light from within, and all have the right to exist and the right to use the resources of the planet. In fact, we all have the right to exist and use the resources not just in this planet, but anywhere in the cosmos. To see this and know this comes with knowing the coin within, and to hold this true coin is the future of humanity.

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This Room Called Reality

I felt as if I had just woken up from a long, long dream in which I had been many, many beings: man, woman, criminal, judge. Where I had been a saint and a sinner. A fish. I had seen myself as daughter and mother. Lover. I was the betraying one and the one who cried in desperation after being betrayed.

I had had many dreams and I had seen myself lost in all those dreams, in all those worlds. I remember myself collecting pieces of me, calling them my companions. Members of a group that searched for an idea, an illusion that we called reality. Futile enterprise. For nothing in that dream could be called reality.

There is only this room. Only this chair. Only me and no other. I am where I have always been and there is no one else. I have always remained in the here and now, even throughout all those changes of form and vision, immersing myself into the hellish vistas of pain and unending suffering with the hope of forgetting the real world, searching for heavenly spheres of life and peace and happiness–eternal happiness–only to be able to forget the stark reality of the here and now. That here I was again, all alone. Nowhere to go in this room called Reality.

I Am a Figment of Your Imagination

The one who speaks and the one listens, that is the “I” and the “you” implied in a sentence, are theoretical entities. That is, they may be actual beings as, for example, the person who wrote this and the person who is reading it, but the sentence itself exists even when no one is reading it and when no one is saying it any more.

This writing stays there somewhere without any real being saying it and no one reading it. It reads as if there is an author and an audience, even if no one witnesses it, but the author and the audience become actual only when someone reads it. It is the reader, then, that gives life to the writing, making the author and the reader actual, real.

And even then, the one who writes when this paragraph is being read is not the person who wrote it, but the theoretical entity implied in the mind of the person who reads it. I, the writer, am only an entity implied by these words you read. I am a figment of your imagination, only part of you created by you through the mechanism of this language, by the magick of these words you read. “I” am only implied by these words.

Your mind creates me in your mind, yet I could not exist in your mind as the author of these words without the existence of these words, these words that never really existed until someone read them, these words that were not real until now, when you are.

My Sacred Prayer

One day this bubble of existence will burst into a million pieces, sending fire and light, and spread it all through creation.

Or maybe it will dissolve into the liquid nothingness of the solar waters that flow from that sunset that’s been waiting to come for all eternity.

It will then be so that every experience I ever had, every word I ever said, every pain I ever caused, and every hope I ever gave will turn to be just the vibrant resonance, just the booming ocean, just the happy dance, and dissolve in that ocean of experience and move amongst your shadows as meaningless signs and sights.

May I never live through that!
May the memory of me fade away in time.
May my soul not be important.
May my life not be object of remembrance below or above.
May I not be significant.

May my shadows be forgot and go their way, where the shadows go and the light of Her eyes shine brightly.

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