
Life appears to move through chapters: arrival, departure, return, yet each chapter dissolves the moment you attempt to hold it. Breath flows, bodies age, worlds turn, and consciousness watches all of it without ever being touched. What looks like a sequence is simply awareness shifting its focus, the way a single flame illuminates many shapes without ever becoming any of them.
Death enters this picture as a doorway only from the perspective of the one who believes they are standing on one side of it. Yet the moment that belief loosens, the doorway reveals itself as an opening carved out of the same boundless presence that carries every heartbeat. What is called “afterlife” is not a destination reached by travel. It is the same field of being experienced without the costume of form.
Love for those who have gone does not travel across a boundary. It moves through the same indivisible ground from which both presence and absence arise. The living and the dead are two expressions of a single movement. Souls do not just depart and return; they appear as waves do, yet the water never goes anywhere.
Samsara, Nirvana, Moksha: each name gestures toward a pattern consciousness creates to understand itself. Yet the moment these patterns fall away, realization dawns that the seeker, the journey, and the liberation were never separate. What felt fragmented belonged to a mind trained to see borders. Freedom arrives the moment those borders fade.
You are the continuity that cannot perish, the stillness that animates every form, the awareness that births experience and withdraws it. Life and death only look like opposites until the lens of identity clears. Beyond that lens rests a truth too simple to grasp and too vast to deny: everything arises from the same essence, returns to the same essence, and never leaves it at all.
Morgan O. Smith
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