a great power pulses behind every one of my cells. and i apparently sit amidst the trillions of cells without location. who am i? what's to say what i am? a consciousness, i am, so i'm told. but even this string of letters fails to satisfy. another concept offered. so many concepts offered. human. love. beauty. woman. daughter.
which of them is the real you?
"i am a love fern" is as true as all the rest.
who am i before the conceptual definitions? what am i prior to all the letters we assemble together and sound in our noise making?
the buddha asked "where in your body are you?" in one of the sutras. and you have to wonder...which of these trillions of cells that make up the body carry you? which particle in motion brings to life that apparent sense of self and the story it faithfully unfolds? how are these particles different from the air particles, the earth particles, the sun particles? where in this universe are you?
life gives you no location. the stream of focus that beams out from these bodies has no beginning. try and locate this "me" in every moment and it fails to be found. so "i" and its story is malleable. for life endowed every apparent being with the ability to build this "i" any which desired way.
but no one can build you. no one can vibrate for you. no one can select the thoughts in your particular point of view. the sequence of thoughts you have thought, you have done so alone. no one else is responsible for the heights or the lows. no one can take your steps for you. all of it is your work...this beginningless you that has the power to focus through the trillions of cells...
you are so free in being that you can choose to bring to life whatever conceptual bondage you construct. sitting in this beginningless space, you can construct a past. sitting in this non-local place, you can project a future. sitting in this timeless space we've labeled "nowness" and "presence" you can create yourself.
you are your own greatest creation.
before your troubles always rests the bracket of beliefs, of concepts, you have solidified in your own mind. before your lows rest the string of thoughts you have glowed into life and then expressed.
you can be as free as your concepts allow you to be. you can be as undefined, and so unrestricted, as the thoughts you choose allow you to be.
nothing is final. there is no ending for when "i" arises, it's always just beginning. you're always at your apparent beginning.
in your inherent freedom is found that you can write the story any way you please...any time.
and life will comply.
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