A taste of life (the search for the self continues)

That's the one. No-one else, just you, but can you find it? If it has the quality of continuance then, and we might as a shorthand reference call that the "continuing self", then it is not the stream of thoughts that pass across the screenplay of your mind, not those bubbling emotions that arise and subside, nor even the food that becomes your body. The continuing self is something else.
One way to look at it, not that you can actually look at it, is to notice that the seer is not the seenery (sic), in others words, you are not that which you see, or for that matter taste, smell or whatever, so perhaps you are the taster. But what is the taster? On closer inspection there is just the practice of tasting, an associated sensation and perhaps a thought like "That tastes OK". And then it passes, but what of the you that remains?
Suppose you can see the seer doing the seeing. Now that quality of seeing has dropped into the seenery too. And what is left? Nothing, and now you are getting close.

The tiny miracle of existence

Surrounded as we are by miracles, the greatest miracle of all is existence itself, the miracle of being. Though that merits amazement, there would be nothing to be amazed without the transcending miracle of being conscious.
Now we can be aware of being conscious. We can notice that. We can feel the life force that courses through everything. We can notice that we are a part of that. And in the knowing of no-separation is the glory of everything. Here we are and where are you?
None of this had to be. You did not have to be. And yet you are. Quite a revelation.

I'm only dancing

Like a drunk who has forgotten his true nature, that which is not quite itself grapples with that which is itself. Being befuddled, the drunk does not quite understand it. In stupor, the drunk has forgotten who he is: a strange and beautiful being beyond his current understanding; thank God.

So gradually - and there are so many years to do this - its sense of itself expands. The darker self gets to know the lighter self by becoming it. The little self encounters the greater self and gets to know it by becoming it. It becomes one.

The space it enters feels something that resembles like a light space, where nothing heavy remains, and all is light. And there it flies and is free. And there is the dance of life. And there was no darkness, only the blinking of your eyes. Now, shall we?

Let's talk about death

Having recently passed fifty, I have come to a stunning realisation: death - in the sense of passing out of this world - is coming, and is merely a matter of time. The personality known as Nigel Linacre won't last forever, no!
Well, that may seem obvious. But it turns out that the fear around death comes from resisting it, even being in denial about it: "It won't happen to me!" Denial causes great discomfort, release comes in acceptance.
In our youth death is easily and perhaps happily overlooked. but we are expected to be sad about death. But maybe that is just a learned response. True we could be sad about our loss. On the other hand, if we take the view that they have gone to a better place, we could be delighted for their gain: free at last! My own experience has been that I have become even closer to friends and family after they have gone. They have felt as close as my shoulder, so no sense of loss there.
There is something quite magical here: once you get that it is coming, it can become something of an adventure in prospect. And it sure as hell - sorry - sharpens your sense of being in this world: so much to do, so little time; this time around anyway, or maybe there isn't so much to do, maybe it was only ever a matter of being.
If you have only this one life - and as the personality you currently inhabit, it rather looks that way - what will you be while you are here? How gloriously will you manifest?
Death is hardwired into life and vice versa, and all change is both, and life is change and death is change. Your cells are constantly being born and dying, your thoughts are always being born and dying, and so you trudge.
And if this life is the great adventure, a greater adventure awaits.