I am an empty hole facing the forms that are empty holes facing my form: one among the many of the One.
Does the hand that animates a puppet have any real personality? Now: How could a nervous system have one that animates a body? Ponder this: Who/Where/What exactly are you?
You say that you’re heartbroken over ’’moving on’’ because you’ve grown truly fond of the forms—the places, the faces—you’ve encountered. But let’s be honest: do you get as attached to plants too? Do you feel dejected when you see a blooming flower in April and think about the fleeting nature of your encounter?—Now, is this a silly comparison? Why? What is the extent of the difference? Isn’t it but all about forms? forms that you can appreciate for their unique flair or fail to do so. One thing’s for sure, we go easy on the plants because they cannot engage in our drama, but when it comes to people we turn into weird, needy little desperate Gollums clinging, grasping, claiming and demanding—no matter how passively—we proceed, in effect, to project the love that we are onto their form—their peculiar face and their bodily rhythms, gestures, postures and style of engaging—because we expect them to be someone for us so we can get to be someone for them.
Someone but One.
The concept of becoming a stronger or even worse the strongest version of yourself is a recipe for disaster, if it’s taken literally. To resolve & transcend the issues that plague one’s messed up persona(lity) is an impossible mission from the get-go. You’ll always manifest your neuroses & hangups until you relate from the vantage & confines of a persona(lity). The only way you can engage in real, ’’healthy’’ & robust energetic transactions with the world and other people is when you relate from your true essence, the impersonal realm beyond or rather in front of your thoughts & feelings; when you relate from in front of your persona(lity), in front of your conditioned, functional & dysfunctional PATTERNS of relating; when you relate from the truth of the moment, that is. That’s the only way. The alternative is but silent struggle.
Once you hit the existential rock bottom and you ask the final question: What’s the point? the answer that hits you & echoes through your whole body is: The truth. For a split second you recognize that it’s not about you. it’s not about your self-realization. But it’s about the truth. In that moment you understand: The truth is the point.
What you fear the most is what you crave the most. There is nothing that brings more joy & sense of accomplishment and fulfillment and liberation in this life than (repeatedly) sacrificing your self on the altar of the truth.
The trick is to not take these ecstatic moments personally [and form an identity around chasing them] but keep on crucifying the self as long as there is a self to be crucified.
I think am a timid truth-speaker, a spiritual peasant of sorts when in point of fact am more and more in/of the flow of the moment and less and less of a person.
I always thought that everybody was drawn to the same truth that I was. I always expected others to be engaged in the same unfolding. I always assumed that they only pretended to be involved otherwise. I was in for quite a surprise. Right in the middle of melting into the one: I’ve never felt more alone.