Patterns.
Ripples of light and darkness.
Patterns of repetition. Repetition of patterns.
Only by walking the Pattern can we awaken.
The pattern spirals inwards, leading us to our true selves.
Our original pattern.
In darkness, we seek the light.
We find it only when we embrace the darkness.
The darkness and the light define each other.
The pattern cannot exist without both.
Look inward.
Who is the one who decides what words your pen will write?
Whose is the hand that guides your hand?
From where do they decide?
The decisions, where do they come from?
Listen.
This world has much to teach us.
There is much we have left to learn.
The aching sadness and longing of wanting to understand and be understood.
Transmissions from the beyond.
Stories that we tell ourselves.
The stories become our reality.
The ego is a story that tells itself.
Who is the one listening?
The watcher sees the stories for what they really are.
What else do you have to tell me?
What else is there to know?
The world answers instantly.
YOU ARE LOVED.
Stunned silence.
Gratitude.
What else do you have to show me?
What else is there to see?
Experience already has such beautiful patterns.
Why do you try to cover them up with your images?
The answers you seek are within you.
The wisdom to find them, you have always had.
You simply had to look.
Whenever it all feels like too much to handle,
it is time to let go of the story.
Terror, darkness, doubt.
Flee! Survive!
Find shelter. Find safety. Find warmth. Find light.
Breathe.
Let go of the story.
YOU are not the story.
You are the audience.
And it’s fun to become the characters.
It is fun to be the drama.
You are the room.
Stillness.
Eternal clarity.
Where do the words come from?
They come unbidden, fully formed.
They have their own message.
It is not ours to tell.
Silence.
S I L E N C I O.
We sit down to watch a movie. Mulholland Drive.
We notice the seats. The theatre. The curtains.
The organist is playing a perfect and sometimes jarring collection of musical numbers.
The music fades. The lights dim. The curtains open.
The crowd collectively holds its breath.
And the movie begins.
A familiar scene. A story we’ve heard before.
Maybe it happened to us. Or maybe it was a dream.
We dream of being an actor. We dream of being a movie star.
We throw ourselves into the story.
And find ourselves in the characters.
Are we them? Or are they us?
Who are we really?
The story unfolds. The story transforms us.
We begin to believe in the story.
The story becomes our world.
We lose ourselves in the drama.
We get confused.
We forget who we are.
It all becomes so overwhelming.
It all feels like a bit too much to handle.
A flash of inspiration.
An idea comes, unbidden, fully formed: we should go to the theatre.
We find ourselves there already.
We sit ourselves in our same seats.
The music comes from somewhere. Elsewhere.
We are not the ones playing it.
The players are not the characters in the play. They are only playing.
The play ends. The character dies.
We go on with our lives.
Forgetting that we are still in a story.
The story loops back on itself.
Patterns, repetition.
We remember.
Suddenly we see ourselves in the character.
We had forgotten we put ourselves here.
We did all this to ourselves.
We did this for fun. A game!
Horror. Laughter. Slaughter.
Ego death.
Was it a loop? Or a downward spiral?
We laugh. We remember Mulholland Drive.
We remember the movie. We remember ourselves.
We return to our seats to find that we never left.
S I L E N C I O.
The credits roll. We applaud.
We are grateful to have watched and seen and been seen.
We are grateful to have seen ourselves.
We reflect, as the crowd begins to stir.
They walk up the aisles, and we see them transform into the players, the characters.
We watch, transfixed.
The real has become surreal.
Slowly, we stand up from our seats as well,
and walk up the aisles towards the exit.
We find our way to the restrooms and relieve ourselves,
relieved to have found our way, relieved to have found ourselves,
relieved to have re-lived our lives.
We wash our hands of it all and emerge from the mirage,
well rested, once again ourselves, and also someone new.
It is time to return to the world.
We must leave to go live!
We exit the theatre.
Forgetting that we are still in a story.