Anarchy


By Amaya Gayle Gregory


Sugar and spice and all things that are nice, that’s what little girls are made of. Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, that's what little boys are made of ... or so said the poems from the early 1800s.


Thank goodness we see more clearly now ... or do we?


What are you really made of? What makes up the illusory self? Illusion does not mean non-existence. It simply means not what it appears to be.


Most look and see flesh and blood bodies. If they consider consciousness, they see it as residing within the body or a brain, believing that consciousness is derived from inert matter. They have been programmed to see a world made of matter, galaxies to Plancks. Energy, according to this world view, originates with dead, inanimate matter -- the walking dead -- odd and assumed true. Scientists look for the God particle, hoping to find the origination of matter and relegate God to the dustbin of mortality.


Believing ourselves to be matter, from dust to dust, born and soon to die, we cannot help but attempt to change, to rearrange and fix our dire situation, to build a lasting legacy, and if necessary, to take what is not freely ours to do so. We resist life as it is, as it is unfolding before us.


Resistance is tied to ideas of free will and control. We wouldn’t resist life if we didn’t believe we had the power to create and change it. We squirm upon the cross, attempting to get down and get on with life, rather than surrendering to what is and miss the message entirely.

This model permeates all thinking and prevents honest inquiry in all but the spiritual kooks, the bloody insane and even most of those are sidelined, detoured by the inherited belief in the sanctity of matter. A few though, are absolutely stunningly certifiably crazy.


Thank God for the crazy ones!


They see what's here, what we are really made of, and except for the few, the brave, the perhaps incredibly stupid ones, keep their mouths shut. Those who have come before have been crucified, burned at the stake, shunned, bloodied and discarded, for life as it is taken to be cannot survive their presence.

Their message is the ultimate in anarchy.


You are not matter. God alone Is. God, not an old man with a white beard sitting on a cloud in the sky, is all, is the awareness of the multiplicity and that in which the multiplicity takes shape. The shapes and forms are nothing but consciousness, awareness, knowing -- God.


There is no power other than God. There is no matter, only the appearance of matter. There is no separation, only the appearance of separation. There is no world, only the appearance of a world. You, the world, everything, only appear to be. You are not; only God Is -- God playing, God creating nothing out of nothing, Himself out of Himself, experiencing life as a finite being while infinite and eternal.


Where is striving, struggling, warring in that message? Where is self-loathing, self-pity or even a self? Where is enemy, friend or stranger? Where is something to rail against? Where is something needed, wanted, something to get? With your surrender, life collapses into a love fest of epic proportions. Heaven is recognized as here, now.


God shines in the face of all faces.


You are not you at all. You are God experiencing life as you. You are the stars and moon, the tireless beaver and the majestic snow leopard, the blades of grass and the buzz of the honey bee, the chirp of the redbirds dancing upon the high wire, the fragrance of grandma’s treasured lilac bush. You are all that has come before, all that will ever be, for you are life’s totality. There is nothing but You.


There is no appropriate bio for Amaya Gayle. She doesn’t exist other than as an expression of Consciousness Itself. Talking about her in biographical terms is a disservice to the truth and to anyone who might be led to believe in such nonsense. None of us exist, not in the way we think. Ideas spring into words. Words flow onto paper and yet no one writes them. They simply appear fully formed. Looking at her you would swear this is a lie. She’s there after all, but honestly, she’s not. Bios normally wax on about accomplishments and beliefs, happenings in time and space. She has never accomplished anything, has no beliefs and like you was never born and will never die. Engage with Amaya at your own risk. www.amayagayle.com

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