Peace

In the dualistic perspective, peace feels a certain way and peaceful people look and act a certain way.

This is a trap. It keeps us striving to achieve this thing we think of as peace. But by this very definition, peace, in this sense, must have an opposite. This opposite would be any state or action that we would think of as not peaceful (such as agitation, restlessness, upset, anger, annoyance, violence, war, etc.).

Since this "peaceful" state is held up by many as a sign of enlightenment or as a path to enlightenment, we see it as desirable, worthy of our effort, worthy of our striving. The common supposition is that if we strive to achieve a state of peace, we will be closer to enlightenment. What most people don't see is the contradiction inherent in that. Strive for peace. Hmmm...

So, in this dualistic perspective, what happens to us when "non-peaceful" states arise? We are compelled to change them. We must fight against them. We must strive to remain or return to a state of peacefulness. In other words, we must become less peaceful. We are trapped. Trapped by our lack of understanding about what true peace is.

The way out of this trap is to realize the limitations of our imagined idea of peace. For many, the imagined idea of peace is that when we achieve it, we will no longer feel any of those "opposite" qualities of peace. In other words, we will no longer experience feelings of agitation, distress or anxiety--any state that could be thought of as "not peace."

And THAT, that belief that peace feels and looks one way, but not another, is what keeps us trapped. True peace is an understanding that ALL states of mind, ALL thoughts, ALL feelings and ALL behaviors, are simply forms of the One/the Absolute--including agitation, distress, and anxiety. True peace is realizing that nothing about these states of being needs to change (including the desire to change them). Nothing needs to be made to be other than what it is.

This is the peace we are striving for, and it is already here.

Haunting

I'm haunting my old life. Or more accurately, my "old" life is haunting me.

It feels like there used to be something here--let's call it Me--and now there's nothing but vapor. Either way, I'm walking in shoes that no longer fit; pretending "I" exist when I know that I've got no more substance than a shadow or a ghost.

Everything has shifted since I realized I was done seeking. It's the most subtle of shifts, but it makes all the difference. This incredibly subtle shift in perspective happened, and the entire structure collapsed. Not only the identity of the self has collapsed, but of the entire world. It feels somewhat like watching the twin towers come down. The entire bedrock on which "I" based "my" existence is dissolving and being swept away by a massive Void. It's like The Nothing (from "The Neverending Story") is sweeping through and taking that "old" life back to Itself.

What's amazing, is that this isn't scary. In fact, it's fascinating. It's even familiar. This awareness of the void is present all the time now and feels like it's growing.

What's interesting is what is still hanging around--what I call the "old" life--what hasn't yet disappeared into the Void (if it ever does). The trappings of life that existed before are still here: there's still the husband, the cats, the relatives, the friends, the job. It seems further proof that "I" didn't bring it into existence, "I" have nothing to do with it being here and "I" will not be the one to decide when it disappears. I just find it fascinating that it's all still here, and that all of it feels less substantial than air--ghosts of an existence that has never more than a mirage anyway.

A New Life?

So what do I do, now that I am no longer seeking.

I do what I did before, only now, it has no urgency. It has no meaning. It has no reason. It has no purpose. There is no need for me to do or not to do. There is, in fact, no "me" about it at all.

Oh, don't get me wrong. There are still thoughts of "me-ness." I still say, "I," "me," "mine," etc.  Just last night, I had a little hissy because Jason ate the last of "my" ice cream. But I just have to laugh at such outrageous thoughts. Really? MY ice cream? Really!?

I think I'm most surprised that life isn't different, although I have read in so many places that it wouldn't be; still, it isn't anything like what was expected. Life is the same, only with a twist. Now it is no longer "my" life. I don't own it. I didn't bring it into existence. It's not something I've been given. It cannot be taken away from me. I can't save it, ruin it, make it better, make it worse, mess it up, improve it...nothing. "I" have nothing to do with this life or the experience of it, or the reaction to it, AT ALL. Not possible.

Instead, there is the appearance of life--waking up, making and eating breakfast, greeting husband, petting cats, going to do some work, driving a car, shopping, dishes, etc. There is an appearance of doing.  There are "experiences" of emotions. There is conversation and ideas and thoughts, and yet, now, underneath, or perhaps infusing all of it, is this knowing that It is/I am/All are the Absolute. Nothing is not That.

Whatever is left "here" feels more like a residue. Kind of like what you see on your retinas after a flash bulb goes off, but then slowly fades away.

I remember "Natalie" and all the beliefs, feelings, thoughts, positions, ambitions, roles, identities, etc. that she thought she was, but I can no longer believe in "Natalie." Responses and reactions still occur that seem very Natalie-like, and yet, not so much and less and less as "time" goes on.

This "new" life is interesting.