This Is Not The End

This is not the end of the world, but the beginning. Old ideologies of left and right fall like brittle leaves, swept away by a gentle breath of Presence. We do not "shift" into a new age or higher level of consciousness, but dissolve all dimensions into one, no longer divided into levels, planes, or degrees of initiation. There is no higher or lower. Such illusions are the past. Now we evaporate into a singularity, a primal blast of energy. This shiftless transformation is the work that heals everything.

Alchemy does not happen in time. Effortless melting into Presence has no duration. Where do we shift? Nowhere. Simply relax from anxious thinking into the space between thoughts, which is the space between stars, which is the radiant clarity of emptiness. Expose the hollow of your chest. Drop every garment of belief. Denuded of hope, step out of your story. When you sink into the darkness of uncertainty, into the wound of not knowing, the glory of ten billion suns will burst from the stillness between breathing out and in.

With this inhalation, gently rise into your crown and take off your cap. Unscrew the nozzle, like it was when you were a baby with a wide open fontanelle. Let awareness spray up like a fan into the starry night. Rest in the fully-held still breath of silence.

Now breathe out: the Milky Way pours into your cranium, polishing the pineal gland in the back of your skull to a blue pearl. Let this sparkling star-nectar run over the chandelier of your pituitary that hangs at the center of your cranium. Vintage of the galaxies, anointing your hypothalamus, your amygdala, healing the fissures and lesions, soaking through your brain stem, down the back of your throat, like honey.

Every muscle in your face now massaged into a gentle smile. Your eyeballs feel refreshed, looking neither outward nor inward, but simply resting luminous unto themselves. Your ears so hollow that like conch shells they contain the sound of the sea.

The luminous nectar flows down your breastbone, which is like a sword softly piercing your heart. The tip of your sternum barely touches the hidden valley just beneath your lungs, just above your diaphragm. Here, in this humble furrow, let the star-nectar drip, as exhalation dissolves into stillness.

Repose in the "ayin soph," a diamond seed of no-thing between breaths. For only a moment, yet a moment of eternity. In this infinitesimal space, galaxies spin from threads of inner light. A soft glow emerges from that pointless dot of darkness, blossoming into a wild flower of grace, an inch or two before your chest. What is this glow? It is the whole universe. Did you do that?

To awaken is to discover that this transformation has always already happened, before the beginning, in the un-created core of the Ancient Now. Was there an I who left Om to arrive here where I Am? Was there a journey?

Miracles happen in the field of the effortless. Galaxies whirl out of causelessness. There is no do-er, yet some vast Thou, into whom we dissolve. There is a witness, a smile, who touches the heart of every creatures. And at the center of your own heartbeat, earth is reborn. Come and see for yourself. Bring all your relations.

Mandala by dear friend, Rashani Réa, from the book we made together called, "The Fire Of Darkness: What Burned Me Away Completely, I Became" (See books below)