Let Go

Let Go

Through our conscious experience, all of us have recognized that there are such physical actualities as “fullness” and “emptiness”; or, in abstract terms, form and void. Considering that everything which we experience has—to our mind—limits, is it so difficult for us to acknowledge the implication that something, “somewhere,” has the possibility of existing without any limitation whatsoever? Can we concede that there is something which is not imprisoned even by man’s arbitrary definitions of such realms as “space” and “time”? Can we conceive that there may be a void which is not defined by form; or a fullness that is found in emptiness? Can we understand that there must be—by implication—at least one thing in existence which does not make rational sense?

Once we loose the hobbles of our normally calculative thinking and we embrace the possibility that a reality exists that is entirely devoid of boundaries, we will perceive that this reality (of necessity) must be present in every place, at all times—in its full totality. In other words, there can be no place or time where it has not been, is not now, or will not be.

Since it has neither need to expand nor contract (considering that it has no requirement to “fit into” anything), it does not diminish or enlarge at any point where it is present—it is complete reality wherever it happens to be. Therefore, it does not reduce itself to fragments; there are no “parts” of a boundless reality: there is only reality, entirely manifest in all things. Being fully present at each and every point and place, there is no place too large nor any point too small for

its actuality. It is, for example, within every molecule, in every atom. And since it comprises everything, there can exist not even a border which is not itself composed of it. Therefore, being both fully “inside,” fully “outside,” and permeating anything “in between,” it is not merely form or emptiness—it is all that there is. There can be, in reality, no tangible partition or barrier anywhere, between anything, since all things are of its composition. It permeates the physical body, which subjective thought has defined as “you.” It permeates that which you view as the interface of (“between”) your form and that which you believe is “outside” of your body. It is fully contained within you, at the very same moment that you are fully contained within it. You are not a “part” of it, nor is it a “part” of you. You are it, in the same way that it is you. Being free of limitation and without a specific form, it is not static or fixed in its activity. It is what change does; it is in constant flux, in what we might term the process of creation and destruction. It is a “process,” however, in which creation and destruction are coincident; this limitless energy knows nothing of beginnings, endings or temporal continuity. Hence, the physical body which experiences creation also experiences destruction. Yet, the destruction of a physical body is not annihilation, it is transformation; though changed in form, no “part” of this energy disappears— for there is nowhere for it to relocate to where it is not already present. From its conception, the physical body continually changes; as does the mind which “inhabits” it—as well as the “self”

which occupies that mind. Upon death, change will continue in the form of the body, and of the mind, and of the self. The body is a physical reality, and its changes will be in the form of a material reality. The mind and the self are immaterial, and their changes will be in the nature of a formless reality. We do not have control over reality; we cannot dissuade the energy of change. Death of the physical body is resolute; there has never been a mind that was without change; there is not a self whose constancy can be relied on. We can only attempt to temporarily avert or avoid that which we view as the impact of change. We can only attempt to control the workings of our mind, and attempt to improve the condition of our self. And there is no certainty of achievement, no assurance of security. There is but one certainty, and it is that the energy of change can destroy every of our efforts at control. Might we not, then, face this certainty by abandoning our efforts at control, attuning ourselves instead to the nature of change around and within us?

In the same way that we can, while alive, abandon our resistance to the death of the body, we can relinquish our resistance to the disappearance of subjective thought and of the personal self. That is, in the absence of making an effort to change our thinking and to change our selves, we can acknowledge observed changes without a decision to oppose, resist or assist them. We can silently concur in nature’s transformations when and as they occur. When we allow our subjective mind and our personal identity to drift away, where can our sense of personal presence go but to re-associate with that which is without boundary?