being human

When there was this realization:

I am not a human being
there is just Being
being human

Understanding dawned.

Beliefs, carried for a lifetime, suddenly seen through.

Is this just a story being told?  No.
Is it a belief shared?  No.
Can it be proved?  No.
Can it be taught?  No.

Is this something others know? Yes, and no.

There are no others, but among those non-existent others there are some through which there is (the) knowing of this.

Is it something those who don’t know, can know? Understanding will dawn, or not. There isn’t a someone, a human being, who can control its occurrence.

There is just Being, being human.

Is this a gift bestowed upon one, or others?  No. There is no one upon which such a gift could be bestowed.

There is no individual me.
There is no human being.
There is only Being
being human.

The burden of having to know what to do, when to do it, how to do it, how to solve any (or all!) of the world’s “problems” dissolves. There simply are no problems. (And how the human being flinches in the face of such truth.)

Life seems so unfair.
But is it?
To whom?

That one, when searched for, cannot be found.

What IS discovered?

Cannot be described, especially to the satisfaction of one who wants proof.

Cannot be taken away from the (no) one in whom understanding dawns.

Curiosity will plague ’til the human being’s dying day. Or it won’t.

Blessed be that holy day when death strikes the human being,
leaving a hole through which the winds of Being blow,
unimpeded by the barriers of beliefs harbored by Being,
believing itself to be (merely) human.