O

I’ve started the practice—the admittedly quaint practice I should say—of looking at people as if I was looking at flowers (partly as a countermeasure to the chronically clingy nature of my strategically aloof personality). Whenever a cute girl, for instance, turns me on and I feel a surge of an urge to pick (up) and possess or at the very least fixate on her from a safe distance I know that in a sense I enact the death of (the spirit in) both of us—as in: (neurotic) attachments retard relations (the dynamic unfolding of authentically relating to self & other): an image of ’her’ and an image of ’me in relation to her’ takes the place of the truth of the volatile moment. By making a mental note of this I manage to curb my fervid enthusiasm.

And gradually it’s starting to dawn on me for real what my spiritual savvy ego-mind has been telling me for a while now: that there really is nothing inside us. Nothing. We are truly empty—plain, hollow forms undulating, just like flowers or blades of grass in the fluctuating flesh of the air—we simply exist. In other words: there is no-one but ’only’ some body to us, we are no-one but some body. There is a subtle but all the more poignant sense of this creeping up on me now that just blows my mind—I wonder what happens when the recognition descends deeper into the heart and the gut: Nobody is special. There is no substance to (the idea of) anyone.

And yet, there is me and there is the emotional attachments plaguing me. There is me and there are the compromising (social, financial, health) conditions of me. There is me and his recognitions—A face grasping against the mystery of its abysmal depthlessness.

How come?

but ONE

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.

Manifest Destiny

The ego is like the ultimate search engine—slick, sleek and stunningly swift—designed to seek and invariably find new frontiers to keep reassuring its own raison d’etre. That’s how yesterday’s selfless flow turns into today’s fixation overnight (especially among folks of the spiritually/transpersonally inclined). Even the gesture of total transparency and exposure—like the one attempted on this confessional type blog and other transpersonally oriented sites—quickly turns into a posture, a new way of reassuring a sense of separate self in control. But at least I (!) know that LOL.

Embrace

I is afraid that without the compelsory struggle it’ll be left stranded, naked and empty handed. If there remains nothing to grasp, nothing to cling & hold on to and nothing to push away what is the I to do then with its clever hands? Beyond a lifetime of perplexed grappling all that remains is the unconditional act of touching, I guess.

L o V e

I is afraid of freedom. I is afraid of abandoning loved ones. I is afraid of abandoning itself. I is afraid of the truth.  I is afraid of love. I is afraid of… No me. No you. No them. No us. No tomorrow. No hope. No past. No path. No future. No time. No wait. No rush. No hurry. No must. No should. No may. No might. No right. No wrong. No could. No would. No ought. No shall. No say. No blame. No guilt. No shame. No way. No doubt. No why. No where. No more. No less. No waste. No pain. No gains. No lack. No map. No territory. No direction. No position. No ambition. No improvement. No solution. No resolution whatsoever. No projects. No prospects. No romance. No nonsense. No beast mode. No  priest mode. No more games played. No manipulation. No negotiation. No BS.

N o T H i N G.

E V e R Y T H i N G.