THE GRAFFITI ON THE WALL

 


 photo by Inna Darda, Odessa, Ukraine

I don't have a story that there is something a few can discover that is not what already always is. Sometimes it may seem to manifest as a being that sees through illusions or beliefs, but that is the very same thing as a being with illusions and beliefs. Illusions and beliefs are just ideas, and that is also only an idea.

Whatever I see is simply felt as what has always been here, just like someone walking down the same street everyday and never noticing the graffiti on the wall. Once it's seen, they realize it was always there. But the one who sees it and the one who doesn't are the very same, no separate one at all. I can't separate the world into parts. Sometimes it's sunny, sometimes there is happiness because life appears the way you imagine it should be. But sometimes it's not safe for the body, sometimes you hurt, you are hungry, and there seems to be suffering. 'What is' seems to change, but not really. It’s always perfectly what it is, and no, I am not saying it’s perfect to the human mind that sees separation.

It's all this, appearing as the graffiti on the wall. In Odessa, Ukraine, there is a woman who takes beautiful photos of ballerinas and rhythmic gymnasts. Sometimes there is smoke on the edge of her photos from a missile that just fell, a reminder that a deadly explosion may fall on her and the young dancers any moment. Yet that doesn't stop the dance. No matter where you appear to be, life is uncertain, it comes and goes, the kaleidoscope turns, and no form is ever permanent enough to be there at all. And yet beauty dances before these eyes nonetheless. We can call it love, though as Nancy Neithercut says, “love is made up, and that is wondrous.” Yes, wondrous indeed!

No one and no thing is separate or outside of this, Yet this is a never-ending carnival of shifting appearances all happening for no reason any human will ever know. There is no separate person, so personal tendencies are ultimately as impersonal as the rain.

Sometimes there is pain and you hurt, anyone hurts, sometimes there is hunger and starvation or war, sometimes joy and love; all these are appearances in this, none can be separated. In this life, it's impossible for me to be hurt, but my body can be. Only my beliefs could hurt me and they are no longer mine. As I wrote in Romania, even if racists attacked me and beat me and killed me trying to defend my Romani friend, even as I fought back, with my dying breath I would only ever see angels. When this is seen, nothing less is possible.

You don't have a body. You don't have an essence. There is only a body, a brain, a character, whatever you call it, but no separate independent "you," no separate self with free will or a soul or internal essence. No more than the wind or a squirrel. You are equal to all else that appears and not separate from it. And that's actually pretty awesomely great news. That’s the graffiti on the wall. 💝


 

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