When there is no more corners to hide in and nowhere else to turn to—No pleasure foods, no snacks, no girls, no flirts, no dalliance or kinky stuff, no distractions whatsoever, no mental onanism, no net, no flicks, no TV, no Tubes, no movies, no homies, no social, no messenger, no books, no meditation, no recreation, no studies, no grooming, no cooking, no shopping, no work, no chores, no duties to tend to, no errands to run, no crafts to hone, no training, no conditioning, no stretching, no foam-rolling, no walking, no writing, no hiking, no drifting—in front of confusion, in front of frustration, in front of idling, in front of melancholy—where there is nothing—no prospects for resolution, no chance of absolution—WHAT REMAINS?—no projects pursued, no agendas followed up on, no schemes schemed, no excuses mustered—disconnected, isolated, out of the loop, totally abandoned—What’s the point? What is there to see?—No toys, no joys. No highs, no lows. What remains? What’s there in front of the satiating carb highs and quelling cumshots, the voluptuous redheads and blondes, the distracting feeds on social, the productiveness, the hustle, the toil, the recoil into poise? What remains when you drop it all and take a deep breath instead? when instead of dulling your senses with stimulants and stimulations for another round you relax into your g(r)asping? When instead of compulsively (re)acting you choose the truth of the b(l)ooming moment? What remains?
What remains with the baby when you throw out all the bathwater?
THIS MOMENT is all that remains.
The room around you—
—the pen in your hand, the books on the shelf, the sounds from the street, the sounds in the room, the pressure in your gut—there is nothing left but this moment, fully, resplendent and replete—absolutely no limit; infinite. The sheer abundance of this moment that surmounts you. Connection, integration, total intimacy. Translucence.
What remains is simply the truth and the truth is the point of it.