Directionless

 

Directionless:

in both directions now, this is how things appear - a view that shows form, objects, and the world at large, while too revealing my own sense of spacious holding. Of course it only seems to flow in any one direction, an outward glance to find the world and a reflective gaze to find my true self. Reality shows me that there is only, ever, at once, directionless, and continuously unfolding. By virtue of presence, I find myself as the center of it all, seamless, aware of my capacity to hold the world within my view. This is the language of seeing, reality with a small r, and not to be mistaken as anything but my own experience of how things are. It's an inquiry from my morning perspective. 

and yet - at any moment there is just this same thing, my view being a constant revelation of things appearing through an empty capacity, and if I wish to turn and look for any source for this allowing, I find only an aware sense of being, almost bewildered by all that's now appearing. It's easy enough to see, my capacity, limitless in allowing content, is always present in what seems to be the back end of the view, and from here the world unfolds. But it's a trick of the senses, lending to the belief that there is such a thing as directions, that there is a source separate from what's appearing. 

what I find myself to be is directionless, a seamless display of an all allowing nature. One thing. A direct experience of being. Nothing needs to be proven, there is no evidence other than exactly what's appearing now. Every word here is a demonstration not description, the page in open capacity for what's told. Writing itself is true, even if every world seems to tell a lie. With this in mind I offer only an inquiry from my morning perspective. 

giving no directions. 

~

Peace, Eric