The creator is you and you are the creation
All my life I have been an ordinary person, with my childhood’s faith and no interest in spiritual matters. Then something happened that revolutionized my life. What it was can be read in the chapters “The red chalice”and “I am a slave, lady, soldier, monk and Judas Iscariot”. When it happened stability was pulled out from under my simple existence. I did not believe in such things, still they happened. I did not want to have these things in my life, yet they were there. I had no choice but to start the search for the real me, if there was any such thing.
I soon realized I was not to be found outside myself so I started the journey inward. It was a strange journey, felt like I was not diving into myself but rising up from the deep. I got visits in my dreams were I was led to various places and events and thus helped to a wider understanding of myself. It was a strange experience, sometimes fun and sometimes scary, but it was always instructive, broadening my view on myself and others.
My search had been going on for months and it seemed like it would never end. It felt like I was still at the starting point. I had read many books about theosophy, occultism and various spiritual matters, and by that I got all kinds of new knowledge. I also found knowledge in myself, I had not known was there, and on top of that my friend from another world visited me in my dreams. I listened to what others had to say, I did not understand all of it, there were so amazing and interesting things others knew. I was like a child beside them. Still I found how little use all this knowledge was. We still fluctuated between sorrow and joy and we were not near any closure. But I could not stop searching. I longed to know who I was, behind it all. I craved for the truth and nothing else.
In many of the books I read, people talked like they knew the truth. They talked about a higher self, different paths and growth and sometimes they talked around something that could not be told. Much of it was very beautiful, but I could not understand it all. No one talked about how to find the truth. Why did they not just tell us how to go about it?
All the knowledge I had gathered was starting to lose its value. Books no longer satisfied my needs. They were so many and so various, so I could not know what was right and what not. The same could be said about everything else I came across. I wanted the truth, like a drowning man air. I was willing to confront it, no matter what it was, and if there was no truth I would accept that. But I did not know how to do it. All I could do was to continue to read and listen to what other truth seekers had to say.
In one of the many discussions, I heard someone say that one of the ways was to peal of all we had gathered in our lifetime and view it objectively. But it would be very difficult and even impossible for most of us. These words stuck in my mind. It was the first time I heard talk of approaching the truth. I wondered about these words and remembered another had said something like this. He had spoken of leaving everything and to follow him. What did they mean? What was this all I had to peal of me, view and leave? What had I gathered, family, convictions, ideas and belief? Did they mean that?
The only way to know was to do as they said.
I started looking at my life and soon I saw that it consisted largely of the ideas I had about everything. Even that I was so convinced about was not so sure anymore. I saw I knew really nothing, just thought I did. And that was the case for everything in my life. So I peeled of the life I had built around my existence, until nothing was left but me and God.
It was painful to reject God. My childhood faith had been there for me through thick and thin and I had held on to it in difficult times. But they said everything and I wanted the truth, so I had to go all the way. If God was real he would continue to be, no matter what I did. And what was my faith in God other than an idea created by myself? What did I know about God? Nothing. It was a fact I had to face. I did not know whether God existed.
Then there was nothing left but me.
What was this I called ‘me’? Who was I? Was I maybe just an idea created by my own mind? Or was this perhaps only a dream? My dreams were sometimes so real, that I was quite surprised when I woke up and discovered it had only been a dream. And sometimes I dreamed I was dreaming. And what now if it was not even my own dream, but someone else’s? Would I disappear when that someone woke up? I could not know it. I did not know who I was. I did not even know if I was.
“It all started the day you were born into this world” I heard someone say “then you had your first experience”.
I knew this voice; I had called its owner my friend. But now I no longer knew who he was. I could not know whether this was an illusion created by my own mind or something outside myself or even nothing. I listened to what the voice said. It described this first experience of mine and at the same time I saw images appear in front of me. These were live pictures that showed what the voice was saying. I saw one incident to another, since the day I was born, until the day I now was here. Even the moment this voice came into my life was not excluded. And the voice helped me to see what each experience and knowledge brought with them. I watched this little, innocent child turn into a kid, teenager and a young woman and finally the woman I now was. I saw how difficult it had often been and often I felt compassion for her. But it did not touch me personally, as if I was standing outside as a neutral observer.
When the voice had silenced and the images disappeared I sat quietly and pondered what I had seen. I thought it quite remarkable how much I had experienced in one short life. Even more remarkable, I thought, that I had survived mostly unscathed, the difficulties, trials and sorrow that had come my way, although I had also experienced joy along the way. But what did all this tell me? I had just seen a string of many random experiences. Where did I fit into this picture? I tried to build up a comprehensive picture, encompassing what I had seen, and then I understood what was taking place. This I called ‘me’ was an image, created by myself, made up of memories, like my entire world. Memories that were rooted in the experiences I had gained through various events and knowledge I had gathered from books.
But this could not be, I had not experienced or learned everything. This image could not be me. I had looked at it all. There was nothing left. And at that moment I vanished into thin air and disappeared. I died.
Where there is nothing there is truth.
There was a movement in my chest, like an energy flowing lightly and without a struggle. My consciousness was clear and my first thought was, “it was nothing, yet there was life, that is truth and that is me”. There was like a lightning struck my mind and I saw and understood. It was not appropriate to call it their higher self. They all had concepts for all words and it was not higher and it was not theirs. It was they. The truth was not in parts. It was always whole and it could not be whole with lies or delusions. ‘It’ was the right word for it. Because that is, what it was. My reality was not the ‘me’. I was the truth and the life and that we cannot own, just be, and then it all.
I tried to think about what happened before I vanished but I could not call it out. I could think the words child, kid, woman, grief and joy but I could not relate it to me. It was gone and I knew it was not gone into my memory and forgotten, it did not exist anymore. I no longer consisted of fragments of experiences. I was whole and undivided and free.
I felt neither joy nor sorrow. The creator was me and I was the creation. That was all. No struggle. Nothing. Still I was not without feelings. I thought of my children sleeping in their beds and I felt love for them. I was not without desires. I felt compassion for those who still fought in the shackles of what they called ‘me’, in a world created by them around this ‘me’, and I wanted to share this with them.
But how could I tell them about the life behind the image, that ‘it’ was the only reality, that life was the truth and the truth life and that nothing existed outside of it? How could I tell them that to peel off and leave everything they had gathered was not one of the ways but the only way? They were all certain it was otherwise. I could understand how difficult it would be for many, to leave it all. They had built their whole existence on their illusion and it would take great courage to face it. And though I tried, could I tell them without words, which they all had different ideas about? And would they believe me? How could I tell them that there were no orders, no secretes. That everyone was ‘it’ no matter what stage of development they thought they belong to, what they were looking for could not be found or owned. They could only be ‘it’. ‘It’ had always been them. They just did not know it. The truth had disappeared into the ocean of delusions they themselves had created. And they were so convinced that their world, their delusion was the truth, whatever I said would be useless. Yet they should know, the truth could only be one, unchangeable, unshakable and eternal, the same for all, at all times. And they could only be ‘it’ all. And for that they would have to leave everything.
Others had discovered the truth and they had experienced the same need to share it with other people. They had tried, but the only thing that happened was that people stared at them and cried out, savior, teacher, guru and they did not even try to believe their words and follow in their footsteps. They were satisfied to create images of it and religion around them.
I had discovered the truth and I was convinced I would turn my back to the self-delusion I had created around my image. I had to stand in the truth no matter what. I was the truth and could not do otherwise.
Now I stood before a different world. However there was no change, the world was the same, the earth, the people and events, everything was the same. But even though the people and events looked the same, my understanding of it was new. That was somewhat strange. Someone said something on the television, radio or to someone else and I understood it in a different way. At first I was a little confused, or perhaps rather surprised at this new sensation, so I decided to write down how I saw the world. That is how all the chapters in the book “What am I?” came about.