I’m expanding and revising five or six books at once, getting ready for the demand for information I anticipate, following the announcement of the delegations or the Reval.
And as I run through articles for inclusion in the expanded editions, I’m coming across some that I can’t not repost. This is one of them – a two-part series written in the midst of a spiritual explosion.
To write in the midst of a spiritual experience, which is something a journalist might do, is to remain a participant and an observer at the same time.
To be only a participant and let go into the experience would probably result in a deeper and longer-lasting experience. But my contract is to go up with everyone else and write about it.
This is me the observer, holding back a few brain cells (and hence a tie to duality) to write about it.
More than one realization occurred here. In fact for a brief time I was again in the flow of higher-dimensional love and things and ideas were just tumbling out.
In the long-distant past I used to call this type of thing a “creative explosion.”
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“My Life is Mine to Create – Part 1/2,” September 24, 2017, at https://goldenageofgaia.com/2017/09/24/my-life-is-mine-to-create-part-12/
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I’m in the middle of a spiritual experience. If I don’t write it down, no trace of it will remain.
I suddenly felt the onset of a wave of transformative love directed from me to myself. For a moment, I fell in love with myself.
I felt the same divine love for myself that I feel for my sacred partner.
I was delighted with myself. And it didn’t depend on what I did or did not do.
I was aware of myself as a being. And I loved myself. Why have I been holding my love back from myself?
When I saw that love didn’t depend on what I did or did not do, I had yet another realization.
I saw that nothing depended on what I did or did not do, that everything I did was made up.
This whole world is illusion compounded and I’m acting as if anything I do truly matters, when it really doesn’t. Not absolutely, eternally, permanently.
It probably sounds as if I’m demeaning myself. I’m not. At the absolute level, every trace of an individual “I” dies.
At that level, none of this that has gone on will retain its meaning. Or go with me. There will be no “me” to enjoy experience. Or to remember. Or to wish for something more.
It’s a very refined form of play acting we do, with some very real consequences on the level on which events transpire. But at the level where we re-unite with the One? No meaning at all.
In my moment of realization, I saw that my life was a series of actions that I’m carefully making up as I go along, moment by moment. I observed myself making it up.
And then I persuade people to believe my story about events. I sell my story to them. But, as the song says, “it’s only make-believe.”
Invariably I construct my version to favor myself, to give myself the benefit of (every) doubt, etc. It’s very refined but nonetheless it’s all there. Smells like it. Looks like it.
The self-serving bias is one of the hardest viruses to clean out of ourselves, one of the last to go, I believe. I saw how deep it goes in me. And how subtle it is.
I’ve talked about this for years under the term “the constructed self.” May I digress for a moment? I think it’s important. This is me the (graduate) sociologist (before the 1987 vision).
Almost all of what we say, in my estimation, comes from our constructed self, the character or persona we project and try to sell to the world.
It includes our self-image, with its self-serving interpretations. In lightwork, we call it our “service-to-self” persona. I just happened to find myself staring at mine in the midst of my realization.
This whole thing I call “my life” is simply something I’m making up, self-servingly, as we go along and have made up throughout time. And none of it matters. Not really.
None of what I do or do not do ultimately matters. When I bend the knee before the Mother and hand her back everything she gave me, including my separate identity, what I said to someone on the street that day or to a crowd of 40,000 won’t matter.
Ultimately we’re dreaming that we’re acting when the real us – the Self, the Christ, the Atman – does nothing. “I am not the doer.” And yet all gets done. (1)
Since ultimately I merge with God, in an ongoing or permanent sense, there cannot be said to be a “me.”
When I finally merge with God, only One will remain. And it won’t be me.
(Concluded in Part 2, below.)
Footnotes
(1) I’ve experienced being still and yet my will was carried out, at a meditation retreat. The Arcturians or Michael called it a Seventh-Dimensional experience of the Oversoul.