Hurt people point fingers at hurt people.
Some pointing is masked as good deeds.
Some pointing is masked as ill-will.
Both remain pointed fingers.
The observer watches in silence. The observer works behind the scenes, building bridges and building peace. The observer does not judge the others who are not like the observer. The observer is naught.
For the observer, there is no end point. There is nothing to point at. Nothing to claim. No one to listen.
The observer knows:
How the logic mind sorts, categorizes, discovers, and declares. Thoughts and grasping of truth . . . want, need, must do.
Judgment, evaluation, and end point.
Limited perception equating to magnified confirmation bias.
Imaginary worlds.
The observer knows:
Nothing in the singular world is in the collective world.
Where WE truly meets is in the in between space. Beyond the finite.
How singular judges and why singular judges and who singular judges is interdependent on the observer and receiver.
Perception is interdependent — bouncing molecules.
No endpoint.
As singulars don’t squat on number lines. And aren’t stagnant.
All is temporary truth.
Each singular houses an internal eco-system filled with mysteries of the sea, beyond bone and blood is another bounty-filled treasure.
As good leads to bad and bad leads to good — things aren’t as they seem.
Power can be seized, when We see We as mirrors facing mirrors.
Power can be seized when We recognize ‘life’ as hypocrisy.
All truth creates separation. All words — sound formed by singular — create separation.
Once something becomes truth and separate, all outside that truth is alienated.
As one claims this ‘a box’, then what remains are ‘not-boxes.’
As one claims singular as better than, then what remains are less-than.
All words lead to boxes; all boxes leave singulars outside the box.
Rhythm and motions create knowings without words. Vibrations, sounds without meaning, are healing. Images without borders. Pictures without definers. A Mother’s heartbeat to infant.
Observer cannot claim to know any truth or any reality, without equally claiming another singular does not know the full of truth. For observer’s truth can only be observer’s truth, unless the veil of logic is peeled away.
Billions living in singular painted worlds. Each with a singular view. Which singular creation is the right one?
The observer does not have the capacity to choose and also houses the capacity to choose. The observer is a contradiction. The observer sees a singular world as contradiction. Observer can choose, but chooses not to choose. But in that choosing, he chooses.
Observer walks existence as a collective: an interdependent droplet in the massive sea. He cannot be the water rising, even if willed to be, without the body that remains. Observer can stand as a drop. if he was made to know the drop. But as Observer is the collective, he is the ocean.
Wherever there is division, there is finite. Wherever there is finite, love cannot be. As love is infinite. And one cannot slip infinity into a bottle.
Whoever is not inside a finite bottle, is excluded.
A flag that makes proclamation creates separation. It claims finite. It claims ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ Right and wrong creates battles, war, destruction. No matter how right, no matter how wrong, it is division.
Love is infinite. It speaks only love. It has not bottle. It has not box. And thusly, all are invited. There is not inside, and therefore there is not outside.
Equality is in infinity.
Singulars cannot see what they are not. When they look at self they see singular. When they look down, or through, or in reflective glass: singular.
Love cannot see what it is not. When love looks, it sees whole. When it looks down, or through, or in reflective glass: union.
Love sees outside boundaries. Singular sees finite.
Love knows only love. Words are foreign. The concept of ‘me’ is foreign. Without me, singular doesn’t have to be as me, look as me, move as me, believe as me.
Love cannot expect others to believe in itself, because it cannot see belief. Love is because love is infinity.
Hate is finite.
Hate is woven from the fiber of boxes and the glass of bottles. Hate is made in a singular world.
Love is everywhere, as it is infinite. Love fills the emptiness. Love pours in where it is invited. Love fills the space about, within, and in between, in the narrow edges between lines and points.
Love is in the creases and cracks and crevices. It is fissured, stamped, emerged, broken. Love is the spaces. Love is the substance that houses the space. Love is the molecular structure within the molecular structure.
Singular knows boundaries, and time, and space. That’s why singular plants flags. That’s why singular makes boxes. That’s why singular paints itself, as it believes there are other singulars watching.
Non-singular is love. It watches the flags. It watches the boxes. It watches the paintings. But Love doesn’t try to do anything with the watching. It doesn’t think to do anything.
Love is not finite. It is outside loves realm of existence.
Love is the observer and the observer is love.
Love says: I have nothing to prove. We are.
Love sees no singular.
Samantha Craft, July 2020
Belly of a Star 