At no moment are we ever separate. At no moment are we ever apart. The sense of unworthiness is what holds the illusion of a separate reality together. We literally can’t stand the absolute perfection of what is, so we tell ourselves stories about what is not, and hide in the roles we play to avoid the truth of unconditional love.

We hold onto b.s. characters, identities, and victim stories to hide how much we love each other. Even my enemy is myself, lovingly gravitating towards me, to remind me in which ways I continue to deceive myself into believing there really are “others”.

In truth, this instant is freedom. In truth, this moment is perfectly safe. Only the thoughts of what might arise next tie me to the dream of a separate existence. This is why my teacher once told me to take no thought for the morrow. It took me a long time to listen.

Everything is here. Everything is now.

The love I sought in another, a drug, a teacher, a pet, and wherever else I checked, was actually all there is. I cannot find a place where I am not. I cannot find a person or being whose heart is apart from mine.

Struggle as I might, all I can see is myself. Dancing, pretending to be every illusion I’ve ever given credence to, as a means of supporting my false identity. When the burden of my story becomes to great, I shed it, and remember the simple peace of empty headed-ness. Not knowing-ness with each and every breath. I remember that I am empty and full. And I remember that at no point, at no point do I ever experience anything other than the effect of where I place my attention. It’s what keeps the juice of this world alive.

The truth is we don’t need this body, or any of them. This thing is dead meat. All that keeps it together is our attention, and the willingness to see what he experiences next. When the day and moment arrives when we are sick and tired of this thing, when it is old and impotent and sick we’ll simply put it down, like a toy outgrown, and pick up another one to play with.

We do this all the time. Lose interest in one story and begin another. Hurt one story with the characters in another.

Who cares which piece of meat is playing which role?

Who cares who is the king of what or the queen of this?

Is the “I” inside the queen a different “I” from the “I” of her subjects? Or is everyone the subject?

There is no prerequisite to infinity. We live in it.

All this time we have been trying to work for it. To “earn” it. That’s not how it works.

To know the vastness all we must “do” is relinquish the littleness. Let go of our incessant need to seek paltry satisfactions in the experience of limitation. It takes no effort. It is easier than breathing, and perfectly safe.

Enlightenment is the simplest and safest thing that can happen to a person: Nothing.

Nothing is going to happen. Nothing needs to happen. Nothing ever happened.

We’re already fully here. We’re already fully awake. We just have a habit of pretending to be a Bob or Carol or Sue, who is absolutely CONVINCED that they are not awake. But I know myself in those eyes and in any other.

We don’t need those people though. They aren’t real.

“Give your creator full permission to sweep the basement clean. There is nothing worth holding onto down there anyway.”

Let go of your story. Let go of trying to finish it. Forgive everyone who’s ever wronged you, and If you’ve ever wronged anyone else, apologize, ask their forgiveness, and move on.

It’s time to step out of denial, and into ownership of who and what you are.

From Love to Love, Goodbye.