As long as you are pushing and pulling against life because you are in a fixated sort of point of view it won’t be too long before you feel that something is imposing upon your point of fixation. Even the experience of freedom can become its own fixation and you can feel put upon when something demands your attention.
There are the faces around that we all are, faces, already fading, about to be forgotten faces, blooming, withering and vanishing sea waves of faces, my face and your face to be lost sooner or later we are to lose no matter how hard we try to save it on facebook, from humiliation and utter oblivion, always already fading from the face of the Earth, every single face you ever face faces to be replaced, by other faces, as our faces have replaced the faces flowering before us, under the sun, nothing special,
Do you see?
Do you see them now?
Do you feel the love you actually feel for all of them? The faces up the streets, in the shops, in the parks and on the trams. The faces at work and the faces at home. The faces from the past, opposite, behind and next to yours, the newborn faces. Out and about. Take a look. Variations on a theme. Beneath all these faces we all share the same essence. Underneath the myriad faces there is only one sameone there.
nothing stays, on the face of it
What remains, in the end, nothing else remains but awareness, of this moment, above and in front of all the toyful joys and the soulfull sorrows of the person who is losing everybody and everything, slowly and surely, all that it—as an I—has ever attained or missed and all that it has ever grown fond of and loved, sooner or later, falls away, and then the truth meets the truth… this heart is breaking and oozing gooey pain at the thought of my parents fading, at the thought of an ex and the countless unpursued prospects blending into the impersonal mass of the female flesh I’m so mesmerized by day by day: nothing remains that I could hold on to, nothing that I can grasp, nobody, noone, nothing to fixate on, nothing that fix(at)es, nothing that grounds me, nothing to write about really, all the writing blurs into noise, another iteration of the same old, same old, everything pixelates, with me in the middle of it all, alive, a heart, ready to burst, or stop, almost, for real, and it’s beating on, for it’s only the mind that is blown away by the overwhelm called truth
All interpersonal glitch stems from the sense of separation. The resolution to this glitch is simply to cease to exist [as a separate self] or as Adyashanti likes to put it: I’ll be free (from ’you’) when you get to be free from ’me.’ In other words, the only place we can truly meet is right in the middle or rather ’in front of’ us where: I don’t need ’you’ to stay with ’me’—I’m not grasping/needy and I don’t need ’you’ to leave ’me’ (be)—I’m not recoiling/avoidant.
Most people want to remain separate and ‘in control’. Most people want to keep dreaming that they are special, unique and separate. They want to remain separate more than they want to wake up to the perfect unity of an Unknown. (Adyashanti)