Fear would have us believe that we are the victim, the one who seems to be implicated by the evidence of experience, and for that one, in each moment, there does seem to be a choice: Love or fear.

Still, the sky doesn’t choose for the stars to come out, or the clouds to appear and vanish. Just so, in the spacious expanse of awareness, there is no choice, and hence it is called “Choiceless.”

A choiceless choice was lovingly made before the world was born, before we took our first breath. Moment by moment, we are being lived as the unfolding revelation and perpetual renewal of that unfathomable primordial choice.

Whether we welcome the seamless interpenetration of the totality of universal manifestation, recognizing it all as our own magnificent display, or suffer any degree of resistance to it, it will do what it does regardless, and praise and glory to That!

Ah, see – all flows fearlessly back and forth from the pulsating heart of creation, that core of unfathomable love, sometimes appearing motionless like a calm limpid pool, reflecting the crystalline moon in its still waters;  at other times provoking a cascading torrent of terror that threatens to tear one’s whole world to smithereens.

Within this original ground of being there is no preference for either wisdom or ignorance, beauty or ugliness, since by its very nature this source-mind persists as the timeless womb of potentiality in which all things arise and dissolve in natural self-perfection and utter spontaneity.

In whatever form it offers itself to us, the only way to true self-knowledge is by letting go of any impulse to control things, completely immersing oneself in all of life without hesitation, condition, or any demand that it be other than it is. Let the world see, let everybody see what becomes of a life that no longer resists going under.

Begin by taking a giant step backward, prior to the search, prior to birth and all
the birthing drama, prior to the ancient amoebic sludge, prior even to the Word made flesh and dwelling among us as that shimmering poetry of bedazzlement and bewilderment — pure consciousness itself.

Turn the light around and discover that which is prior to our first big bang of being-ness, prior to that astonishing embodiment of radiant thought-light. Let the heart divine be pierced through and through by the exquisite love glance of itself in the mirror of its own infinite creation, prior to any refraction of luminous energy into the rays that spark our myths of meaning, the same meaning we then craft into the ephemeral fractions of light and shadow, name and form, which we take to be ourselves.

Be prior to any reason or purpose, prior to hope or fear, prior to any motion in this ocean of eternal life, prior to life, the Emptiness Mother, prior to the play of Maya, prior to Shiva’s first heartbeat for Shakti and the cavalcade of magical creatures and breath-taking scenes spawned from that ancient impossible dream.

Before the orchestra is ever hired, before any contract is drawn up and signed, let’s be done with all waiting, all doubt and reluctance, and slip through the bars of these self-made mind cages.

What happens then is nothing, really — no blame, no shame, no bright flame burning in love’s deep dark, no people’s park, no sizzling quark, no mad dog barking down the block, no alarm because no clock, no you nor me, not bound nor free, not dull nor keen, not what it seems, this waking dream — just innocence wafting on the hint of a breeze, gently toying with a falling leaf, now drifting silently through the air, without a care, a bubble floating on a stream, a sight unseen, a love supreme . . .



“I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn’t a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time . . .
I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me . . . but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst . . . and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry… You will someday.”

~Lester Burnham, American Beauty

About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have a number of blog sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Compiled Poetry and Prosetry: Verses and ramblings on life as it is: Verses and Variations on the Investigation of Mind Nature: Verses on the Play of Consciousness: Poetic Fiction, Fable, Fantabulation: Poems of the Mountain Hermit: Love Poems from The Book of Yes: Autobiographical Fragments, Memories, Stories, and Tall Tales: Ancient and modern spiritual texts, creatively refreshed: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
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4 Responses to Choiceless

  1. Bhusunda says:

    Wonderful, love especially this part:
    “Let the world see, let everybody see
    what becomes of the life that no longer
    resists going under.”

  2. Showers of rose petals… joy beyond words… the way Reality trills through your hollow flute has me all a-swoon… ⭐

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