You Cannot Find What You Already Have - Pointing Out Instructions

I wrote these pointing out instructions today spontaneously.


If you feel ready to engage with them. Read on. They are long, repetitive, designed to frustrate, and generate deep dissatisfaction...and an opportunity to give up seeking. The truth is you cannot find what you already have. Here we go.


You are writing this, wrote it.

You are reading what You wrote...you cannot cross the threshold, you are making the threshold by trying to cross it. Are you ready...You are already this subtle blissfully open space...there is no other, just This. I am writing to myself. I am writing to You, you are reading a love letter written to You from You.


How do you cross the threshold...you do not. But you can do something...you can give up...completely give up...you cannot win here, you were never supposed to cross, you were designed, to think you needed to do it, so you could finally fail at it and give up...you have done a great job.

  • Are you tired?

  • Are you ready?

You are this, just this right here right now. All of it.

You are already here, you have always already been fully here, awake, aware, free. There is no where to go. The quest is a lie, a joke... your longing is absurd, your longing is a hilarious misunderstanding. Hey You, she no longer needs that piece. Is that true? Is she ready to see through, is the girl ready? Would she die to know? Is she angry enough yet, sad enough to finally give up seeking, blaming, looking for a God that is already always here and which she knows is her, right now, right here...

  • Are you ready?

  • Is she ready?

  • Is the girl ready to go so the girl can arise?

  • Is the girl ready to let go of the ball?

  • Is the girl ready to see she is only this that is here writing this right now?

Right here, reading this, you wrote this, look carefully, You wrote this didn't you?


...you are this, right here, always already fully spirit...you cannot get more of it... you cannot get what you never lost. Attempting to get it keeps you in the getting, the wanting, the longing, how tired are you really? Enough to actually give up longing forever? Just this, that is reading these words, is it...it is not special, You are not special, you are instead everything and so completely ordinary This inside an ornamental form. You are like a shrub.


Are you ready to be utterly ordinary,

perfect in your complete simplicity?


Just this...You are this...always already forever, this. Lay down the phone, look away from the computer, lie down and let go and ask are you ready to die to this thing you believe in?


The sadness is for an idea of who you thought you were, like a character you made up...but how wondrous to see it was all make believe, that you do not have to be that anymore, but instead, this....lie down and tell Awareness the truth...if you are ready to be done with you then say it out loud, that you are ready...the glass does not shatter, the glass never was, it was only an idea, which is ready to be undone because even the idea itself is just this, even that which you think is you is an ornament of You.


You are writing this to yourself, You are already This.


There was never anyone in any room but This, no one has ever been here really, ever, just This. The entire thing is a great cosmic joke, a lie, there is only You, right here, right now, ever present always already fully awakened, yes You... are Already fully awake, it must be, cannot be any other way...you see, this is it...the truth is utterly uncompromising, nothing is not already, always, awake and fully this...you cannot not be this...as much as you believe otherwise, your belief is also just this, here...you long for more.


But there is nothing more than this and never has been, so believe for the last time and then give up, roll over in sadness at the loss of your dream that there was more than just this, right here right now. The stages of grief unfold as you surrender to the truth...that you have always, already been home....You are this, just this. No Matt who wrote this, No Mara to read it. Just You writing to You, as it has always been and forever shall be, the great oneness turns out to be You, this thing right here right now, aware and awake, always already present to what is.


How lonely and absurd?


That this is the truth, and how wondrous and miraculously ridiculous...all these ornamental shrubs that we think we are, pretty and ugly as we are, just this.

You are This, just this right here right now.


This is You, we are This, We are talking to ourselves here. There is no I, there is only a we. We are this. Lay down and lean against the glass, the sadness comes, then acceptance of the truth, the funeral unfolds, it is sad, it feels sad, because the lie feels preciously important...like if you die to the lie, that what makes you you will die too.


But it does not. Your sense that you exist is exactly the same sense of self in everyone. It belongs to everyone, it is just simple everyday awareness, and it is all of us. We pretend, it is all pretend, all your longing and sadness is based on a lie about how your mind thought things are...but it is not that way. The truth is uncompromising...absolutely nothing is not always just this. How could it be so simple? It is so subtle because it is so gentle and accepts all of the ornaments of itself as itself.


And as you let go, as you lay down and the feeling of the self dies, awareness recognizes its own...its own original state, and so the body-mind, so long locked in its tense developing cocoon of human growth finally she can lay down and die and so be This right here right now.

  • You are writing to You.

  • There is no one here but You.

  • These words, written by You to you about This already ever present presence that is so utterly simple, closer than you are to you, You are.

This is a conversation, the most intimate and sacred you will ever have...and you have been having it all your life. You are here now having it with yourself right now as you read these words that You wrote, always, only You, writing and reading your own words, endlessly.


And so This arises spontaneously and the radiant open spaciousness is as it has always been, silent and still as the world unfolds within it and vanishes the instant it manifests, over and over one eternal instant after another, every tiny node of consciousness a contraction, an ornament on the great and terrible tree-steed of life, forever blooming.


Peace be with you

and also

with You