THIS Is It?

This is it. What if there is no more to "realization" than awareness of this--this--this--this; like the frames in the filmstrip that David mentions in one of his articles. This just keeps unrolling itself. What if the way to wake up is to really, really, really pay attention to what is right in front of me?

Yesterday, I was lying on the sofa and thought, "I'm bored," and then, "I guess I could go read one of my books on waking up and try to find more clues," and then I remembered, "No, I won't find it there; so where WILL I find it?" and then wondering, "Well shit, what do I focus on next?" And then whamo!--out of nowhere--what if this--this life--right now, happening right here, looking like this fireplace, smelling like the air in this room, appearing like this house, TV, sofa, chairs, tables, walls, looking like these cats, this husband, this body, tasting like this mouth tastes; what if THIS is waking up? What if really getting that this is it and this is the totality of it, and it's never going to be different than it is right now, so pay attention to this. What if understanding this and getting it and really seeing it, what if THIS is waking up? What if this is living my life?

When I think this could be the case, and it feels like it could be, I'm so damned depressed. I'm completely deflated; completely let down. All I can think is, "This is it?! Just this? No wonder I run and have run to every kind of escape I can think of! This is dull! So very, very dull. This is so ordinary. Where's the excitement in this? Where's the thrill? This is not stimulating; this is BORING! This is prison. This is f*cking prison. This is a straight jacket." As Morpheus says, "[It] is a prison for your mind."

'Cause if this is it; then truly, truly, there is nothing special. I think of all the places I've run to avoid this; avoid seeing this; avoid seeing the "matrix;" avoid knowing what I've known for some time now--no matter how famous, special, loved, excited, drugged out, whacked, doped up, hardworking, workaholic, compulsive overeating I am; no matter what amazing things I accomplish; no matter who I help or don't help; none of that will change this prison one single bit. These walls will still be here. I don't mean this house. I mean the creation, whatever it looks like, it will still be here! And the ONLY way out is death; either death of the physical self or death of the ego-self. "I" won't survive. "I" will never get out of this prison.

Ironically, "I" will never be able to see through this prison, simply because "I" am the creator of it; it cannot exist without "me."