Massage

I received a massage from NoBody, who says that the "information age" is over. All information is a corrupted file, because it leads to the delusion that there is a knower separate from the known. The very act of in-forming creates an illusory distinction between inward and outward, when in fact reality is a continuum of consciousness: pure energy aware of itself without being separate from itself. There is no "interior life" separate from the exterior life. The boundary between inner and outer is only a mirage. The soul and the body are entangled on the grapevine of ISness. We are here to be tasted and touched, not informed. Massaged, not messaged.

The cosmic flowering of energy that we call the world, the universe, was too much for us at birth. It blew our minds. That was the original trauma. We turned around to flee from the terrible beauty of creation. It was too intimate an explosion, because it was all our own consciousness. So we tried to get back "inside" the mother. But there was no going back. Therefor we fabricated an illusory sense of "inside," called "mind" or "ego," and we are still in flight, back into the ghost of "me," which does not exist.

We invented duality in the birth canal, an utterly false fracture of this cornucopic kaleidoscopic joyfully meaningless Miracle into inner-outer, spirit-matter, self-other, subject-object, and we are still under the spell of our own traumatic double-vision: but in fact there is only This, the radiant ineffably gentle explosion of consciousness into waves of no-thing - thoughts, neutrinos, quarks, cells, blueberries, chrysanthemums, clouds, moons, galaxies - one and seamless and all made of the same stuff, which is Awareness, self-luminous, self-creating, arising/dissolving each instant with absolutely no past or future, no meaning or purpose, for any meaning or purpose would imply a thinker standing separate from what IS. But there is no one inside or above to find a purpose in the marvelous order of chaos, which is its own triumphant dance of quiddity, all creatures shining just as they are in the radiance of Being. We might call it all "the play of God," except that there is no "of" between "play" and "God," who Is the dance itself, a seamless beam from the heart's core to the farthest softest rim of blossoming space.

And so we slaughter each other, compete with each other, bully each other, fear each other. Why? Because we're really lashing out at our own little "me," trying to rid ourselves of our own false existence, heartsick that we ever invented such a paltry separate thing. And we know prior to thought - not "deep down inside" but everywhere - that there is no self but everyone, entangled in the bliss of indomitable cosmic Wonder, an oceanic Wonder that bubbles with instantaneous selves. Thus the end of violence comes only with the end of our division into "me" and the "world."

As the great Jewish scholar Rabbi Abraham Herschel wrote, the true religion is "radical amazement." And as the young Martin Luther said when he was a mystic, before he froze his "me" into mind-born dogma: "Bewilderment is the true faith!" For we are all born mystics traumatized by birth, when we ruptured the continuum of incomprehensible rapture, and separated the still-born "soul" from the world "out there." O weep for the child who invented the false idea that there is something "wrong," or even a mind who could be "wrong." Yes, weep for the child who thought up a "me" who could ever be separate from Thee, or from the star-wild wholeness of Love.