John Saward – February 17, 2017 at 07:36AM

The show is far from over.

Our very nature is unborn awareness.

In that unborn awareness a performance artist spontaneously arises.

In luminous wondrous imagination people and worlds appear.

Perhaps for a brief moment those people and worlds are insubstantial, non-existent even, conceptual perhaps in the infinite mind, forming out of nothing through ideation as loving creative potential, and in that moment poised between a mirage of past and a mirage of future, time is manufactured, and space, and what could have just as easily remained conceptual becomes a reality nobody can deny.

Unborn awareness has this super power.

Reality descends and finds its place in the amphitheatre, and an audience seems to have been waiting in just that place for the show.

A garden is created and a million years of peace. A species comes and goes. The dinosaurs were wonderful, were they not?

A gasp as a neighbouring planet erupts into flame from a passing digital-super-nova.

An impossibility morphs into a religion straddling 2 millennia.

An economy takes the throne.

A Guru wanders alone dejected.

A woman cries in pain.

A shout.

A murmur.

An operating theatre dims its lights. A siren is heard. A man is arrested. A prison becomes a tomb. A soul passes through a tunnel and a Hobbit is born. A wizard nods wisely. The journey will be long. He takes a puff on his pipe. He sees galaxies come and go.

A softly erotic, 3-D laser light show, populated by scantily clad cartoon characters, reminiscent of Japanese echo anime projects itself above the city that suddenly appears, and all of this enthrals the audience.

They believe by now it is all real.

Some wander off to the galleries and cafes and dance-clubs and brothels of the city. Some go home to watch TV. Many remain to watch the performance artist.

Slowly the apparitions dissolve and he is there alone, on his little stage, laughing at the way things have gone so far.

The artist genuflects.

The audience throws coins into the hat. The coins are golden and minted in ancient Babylon.

A sufi dancer entertains the crowd.

A throng of Hare Krishnas hand out vegan snacks.

But the show is far from over. A war trumpet is heard and sons and daughters of Gods and Goddesses lay stricken in the sand.

A pact is sworn between brothers. A galaxy is sub-divided.

A new leader instills a confidence in an emerging community of gladly carolling songsters, that will soon be a race of disharmonious silent slaves.

A glance from a princess and a frog becomes an entrepreneur. An innovative app takes the world by storm.

In infinite unborn awareness all happens in absolute freedom or not at all. It does not matter either way. No mistakes have ever occurred. Nothing ever changes. Nobody comes and goes.

At interval, Benedictine is served, and 1 million doves are released into the upper atmosphere where they turn into songs of praise.

Hallelujah they proclaim.

Don’t miss the show.

It is ongoing.

We are, all, this.

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