Sing

We are afraid of being one. We think we are separated, individual, unique, special. Not only do we think it, we demand it. We fear being absorbed into some strange, vague, impersonal "oneness". But if it is true that "we" are one unlimited Self, it follows that we already are that Self; we are not becoming one, we are one.

The part of us that thinks it is separate is simply afraid. It thinks it must hide from its creator. The world we see sprang into awareness (perception) in reaction to our mistaken thought that we were suddenly apart from God.

We have become expert at claiming spirituality while at once clinging to our special individuality. We might believe God is all there is, but still demand the equation, "God plus me." And I am no different. Ego still tries to rule in me. It is just that I sense something else, another self.

I hear another song beneath what the ego is singing. This is because the ego is not singing: the ego does not exist. And yet, it is part of our mind, because we made the ego. But so powerful, so creative is mind, so powerful is belief, the ego appears very real to us. It demands, it attacks. Its question is not "What am I?", but "What are you?" Thus, our mind is split.

By and large, the world is afraid of exploring mind. Whole religions teach their followers not to go within: "Devils live there." We did not actually forget that we are mind (that we are spirit); we only dreamed it so. When I go into my mind, I know that if I come across something that frightens, I made that something. It is not something apart from me, over which I have no control or defense. I know my beliefs, emotions, expectations, come together to form my experience.

One night a woman had a nightmare. She was in a strange house. It was dark. She was being pursued by a monstrous demon. After being chased and nearly cornered several times, the demon's hot breath scorching the back of her neck, the exhausted, terrified woman at last could run no longer. As the hideous thing lurched up, nearly touching her, she screamed: "Who are you! Why are you chasing me! What do you want!" At that, the demon stopped, put its hands in the air, shrugged its shoulders, and replied softly, "I don't know, lady. It's your dream."

An old tale, not original with me. But it speaks to our forgetting that we are doing this. This is our dream. Thus, it is our song to sing. We did not write the song anymore than we created ourselves. We have a Creator, but we seem to not know "Him". We seem to be hiding. I no longer wish to hide. Sing we all the song.