Experience
is the gift, given every awake moment,
even
in dreamtime and then-some.
Well,
actually, experience is never the gift,
but
it is still given, freely given,
every
moment going forward.
Experience
cannot essentially be the gift,
but
it is wrapping materials of the gift.
It
can also be the presentation of the gift,
each
moment following each moment.
Experience,
even though ritualistically rich in itself,
can
only pre-empt the actual gift.
Experience,
in its means of providing,
can
be illustrious and even most profound.
Experience
is only, at best, the messenger, a chaperone,
the
intimate environment, a sensory overload, a mirror of reflection, a clear sky
overhead, a beneficence of compassionate means, a constancy of river close by,
an
audience without judgment, a confident of inescapable presence, but never, by
any stretch of the imagination, by any delusion of certainty, by any grand
collusion of agreement amongst others, can
experience ever be mistaken as being, the gift.
For
the gift is, ‘self-love
becoming conscious from within’.
Whatever
the display, what means as the offering,
self-love,
made conscious, is the gift.
And
in reception, it becomes a broadcast as an expression of spirit, filling a
field of presence, that
others bathe in the embrace.
It
is a charisma as a source to spirit.
Experience
is that everlasting party where gifts are constantly presented and shared
ongoing.
And
so we have come to conventionally say,
well,
“experience is the gift”
yet
inwardly, maybe quite secretly,
we,
more deeply conscious, are given to wink . . .
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