no-one to take credit or blame

Sharing by Kevin:

Being, Awareness, Knowing, Nothing, call it what it will, cannot know Itself. How could it?  It isn’t one plus one; there is no other.  Yet there is this appearance, apparently.  We, this appearance, seem to be free to do things and to speculate, as I am doing. But as Awareness is unalloyed, this is that.

But that this is unfathomable. It is nothing happening,  beyond amazing.
And then not beyond, as there is no space or time. Caught up in our own mystery most of us fishes don’t notice the net, but a few, an increasing few, do.  We create schools and dive deep.

We are told that our sense of separation, the driver of all our heart, body, soul and mind miseries, is the grand illusion.  The loosing, or perhaps more accurately, subsumption, of the sense of a separate self is the liberation into enlightenment that no-one can ever know. Not only the cake you can’t eat, but the cake you can’t know!  But still we really want it. Or do we?

I’ve had an appreciative finger in the mixing bowl for a few years now and I’m steadily losing weight  (interest) in stuff that concerned me previously.  I heard: Your interests will change, your friendships, associations.  In my case there wasn’t much scope for large change as I didn’t possess much of anything, though change did occur through expansion. I found myself making acquaintances on-line of like-minded folk interested in Non-duality.  Then my enthusiasm at the new-found camaraderie morphed to something skeptical: not two, hung like a cloud over all this sociable sunshine.

Was I just drinking water from a glass instead of water from a mug? Wasn’t I still engaging in duality perhaps believing that this level of engagement was somehow a step up from discussing which chicken was going to win the cock fight.  You see, you don’t.  I don’t.  Who is there that could?

My attraction to apparent others who seemed to resonate with this apparent me was for that reason: harmony.  For the separate self to find itself in a situation or company where the object appears so in-line with what it erroneously experiences that it is rendered virtually indistinguishable,  at least for a time. And where this harmony fails there is the misery of discord.  It will find relief in the cock-pit, or on it’s way up Everest,  in a night club, or at a non-dual meeting, or anywhere else where the stimulus matches up.  Anything to keep the illusion going, and perhaps, the more seemingly rarefied, the better to hide.

Anything can happen. There is no choice, no chooser or doer, no-one to take credit or blame. There is nothing to do, just Nothing being itself. Just this spectacular utterly mysterious dream. And then…