April 4, 2017

Whooooo?

I can’t sell you the idea of awakening. I can’t give you a recipe to feel better, to become a better person. I can’t satisfy your dream.

Spirituality will tell you who you are, how to release trauma, how to raise your kundalini, it will sell you on the idea of life purpose, on some explanation of co-creation, on the idea that there is a God and a you, and that you have to do something to feel and experience love. It will tell you that love exists. It will tell you that you can vibrate in positive frequencies, and manifest more joy and more peace and that you have free will to choose whether your life goes this way or that way.

I can’t give you this story. I can’t sell you that lie.

Who are you?

That which wants the answer to this question cannot ever answer it. Because that which is seeking the answer is merely a thought.

Last night at dinner a man said to me that there would be no point in being identified as emptiness, as space. He said, “Where’s the fun in that?”

What’s being spoken about on this blog is not a thought about what emptiness looks and feels like. What’s being pointed to has nothing to do with that which believes itself to have free will. That which is being pointed to is choiceless. It does not choose. It is the choice itself.

That which is being pointed to is not that which is compartmentalizing and conceptualizing the meaning of these words, it is the awakeness being the brain activity.

If you were to sit in a pitch black room, thoughts would arise. And you might feel a presence. What is this presence. Where is it in the dark room?

You are not looking through your eyes, you are the looking. You are not creating thoughts – you are that in which thoughts are appearing, you are not feeling cold, you are the cold, you are not feeling anger, you are the anger. You are everything.

I can’t make that sink in. I can’t give you a prayer, a visualization or affirmation or recipe to wake up to this realization.

I can merely ask you “Who are you?” I can’t do more than that.

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