Be Alive. Period.

There are some very clear upsides to getting rid of yourself as you’ve always known it and merging into what you really are. I would tell you what that is if I could, but alas, the thinking mind—with all its words—would never cut it. That’s how so many just say it’s “silence,” but it’s not that kind of silence. You can’t equate it to something that in language means “no noise.”

I’ve seen a lot of videos and texts where it’s called the void or emptiness, but that too is deceiving. Your mind will hear or read that and think it’s nothing—when it’s not nothing. Nothing is what you’re already used to: empty words and that inner blah that tells you you’re only here to mechanically shuffle through another day doing your duties as a citizen, employee, parent, friend, or whatever roles you play.

Silence doesn’t mean no talking or turning off the TV. It’s not about no sound—quite the contrary, if you ask me. Music and other modalities can take you there faster than anything, because they stir the center and initiate its movement into a totally different state of being alive.

If I watch a show, there’s still a certain type of cognition going on. Eventually, you learn it’s not about what you’re doing but how you’re doing it—whether you understand where you really are, and what the where, how, and why of you is doing whatever it’s doing.

Let’s just put it this way: there are no mistakes. The only real reason people suffer isn’t over the content of their lives, but what they think—and how this thinking makes them feel about the content, and whether they like it or not (which, for the most part, they don’t). They don’t know, and have never once suspected, that the content is always made up.

It’s all fiction, because life is fiction when it comes to content. Yet you can merge what you really are into all of life, transforming the mundane into what it truly is—aliveness. If I were going to coin a term, that would be it: aliveness. Not “be present,” but “be alive.” If you’re doing that, you’re doing your job—and there’s no need to suffer over how it shows up. Everyone has bad days. I thought we already learned that, but maybe not. It seems to take humans thousands of years for anything real to get in and stay there.

So how can I be alive? That’s a question anyone can ask, but knowing how to get an answer is the difference between just asking and knowing something new—something that feels like magic.

If we weren’t prodded and pushed to absorb so much meaning and so many rules when we were young, we wouldn’t have to relearn this stuff—we’d already still be this way. That child running around the house making noise is the aliveness expressing itself.

Have you ever been around children? Are they silent? No, right? Their parents constantly push them to calm down, to subdue their natural inner activity because they aren’t comfortable with it. The children feel great, but the adults are afraid. That’s the real scenario.

Adults think no noise is life—that’s why they make sure the kids are in bed by eight. In parenting circles, they all learn that if they’re not, it’s “not good for them,” or “they could get sick,” or some such bullshit. So they ingeniously come up with tricks to get the child to tone it down.

The problem is that the child does learn to tone it down—and never wakes back out of it. It gets wired into consciousness that being okay means following rules and never talking back against anything the adults impose. We call that life now, but it’s really robotics—following along to get along. Only no one’s getting along, which is what you’re really trying to break the fuck out of.

On some level, even if they can’t admit it, most people are sick of this shit—mentally, emotionally, or physically. You can’t bottle up your true energy forever and expect things to go smoothly. That unused energy has to grow and expand somehow, and if it can’t, it’ll find another way—sometimes through sickness, because all energy wants to move and if it can't, then it's stagnant. Bottled up stagnation is the root cause of all disease. As a kid, you'd scream, now you're passive and silent, meekly asking others what to do, not a good idea. Let it out, let it flow are words to live by.

When you’re a child, you’re overpowered by the size and strength of those who seek to control you. But once you’ve grown, no one’s even there anymore, and yet the pattern of fear continues—it’s just your false personality replaying the past. These patterns repeat not yearly, but moment to moment. Remember Groundhog Day? It’s like that—only it’s not about learning to be nice and loving. It’s about breaking out of the pattern that has conquered you.

You don’t wind up with a love interest; you wind up loving this aliveness that you are — and that’s not the same thing. It’s not about being loving. Most of what we call “loving” is just a metaphor for if I'm nice, maybe they’ll like me. But this isn’t about being likable. Who cares if anyone likes you? The real question is, Do you like what you are? Because you can’t like the false. That’s why it always needs this approval shit — it can never tell itself what it is, or whether that’s enough. Since the false is unreal, it can never be anything — and somewhere, it knows this.

You wouldn’t walk around loving how everyone’s pretending to be genuine when they’re not. That’s just going to seem weird — which it is. Seeing people dream up conflict and endless problems isn’t going to make you more loving; you’ll just see that they’ve chosen to stay in the false character. What can you do with that? You can’t even talk to that. So where does this “all is love” idea even fit? It doesn’t.

You might feel something fantastic, something you call love, simply because there’s no one around who can understand what you’re really talking about.. So you throw that word out there, figuring it’s better than nothing—a clue, a crust of pizza tossed to a herd of cows, hoping they’ll get it.

Unless you’re utterly delusional, you know there’s no stretching that word that far. Life does what it wants with you, including making you say stupid, meaningless things.

I wonder if you remember that sense of wonder you once had with your own imagination.

When I was a child, I’d walk alone into the forest, completely content to play there for hours. I’d balance on fallen tree trunks, make pretend fires with rocks and twigs, build leaf beds, and believe it all was real. I had no fear—of bugs, of animals, of people. I was too alive to be afraid.

Later, after we moved, I found another forest beside a small stream. The sound of water made it even better. I imagined surviving there, perfectly fine. The nearby field had those big round hay bales, and I’d climb them to bask in the sun. I had no cares because I hadn’t yet learned what cares were.

And that’s how it can be again. Whatever you learned, you can unlearn—especially if what you learned only makes you depressed or despondent.

Of course, this doesn’t mean life becomes some magical fairyland where your dreams come true the minute you wish them. Many false characters want to believe that, but experience usually kicks them in the ass.

You’ll still pay for your train ticket, even if you know there’s nothing wrong with boarding without one. There’s still the human side of things—and that’s what gets you. Because regardless of what others say or do, you can be at total peace knowing they’re following their own cues.

The play of life becomes precious—absurd, yes, but precious. You won’t be so willing to hand your children over to just anyone to educate them. You’ll take greater care of those you love, because when will you ever have this chance again?

Children, especially, respond to your nonjudgmental eyes. They’re still alive, so they know you like you now know yourself. You’ll want to give them more than you give yourself—because you don’t need it, but they do.

Even if they’re stuck in the illusion, who cares? Life itself can still be beautiful. You’ll make it that way. You’ll work to make it that way. The trick is to break the pattern of reaction—that’s where all the pain and fear begin.

If something seems wrong, you’ll know it isn’t. You’ll wait for the skies to clear, because you know they will. Meanwhile, you’re still alive to it. You’ll start to notice the beauty of what this place has to offer, because your mind won’t be busy with things that aren’t happening.

Just that one shift is tremendous—why let your mind drift to a past that’s utterly gone? Why keep reliving pain and grief as if they held meaning? They don’t. The pattern of the false self is crap for everyone.

No one is better off in this regard, and never can be when the context itself is an illusion. Life situations may be easy or difficult—it’s only a matter of the illusion’s conditions. What you are had nothing to do with that, and still doesn’t.

Yes, you’re the odd one out because you know that. And now that you do, can you ever guilt anyone again? No. Even if you don’t like what they do, can they help it? You see they can’t. It’s not a choice—it’s a prison they’re trapped in.

The world is a mirror. If you appreciate it anyway—regardless of stories, situations, happenings—it will appreciate you back. That’s a fact. But the reverse is also true. Those are the only choices within free will.

In Cinderella, the song goes: “A dream is a wish your heart makes.”
I’d say: “A life is a wish your heart makes.”

Same thing. Your life is a dream—and when your head and heart are out of alignment, so is everything else. Bring them back together and see what happens. It won’t be the same world.

That’s all you ever had to do. There are forces taking care of everything else. Nothing else is up to us.

In the end, it’s simple. We don’t need to wake up. We just need to make life worth living. That part’s up to you. Nothing can hinder you. These nightmares vanish under the weight of consciousness when it’s focused on one thing—just living.