J e s u s

When people tell me that they don’t understand the things I write/talk about I know that the only reason they don’t get me is that they don’t understand themselves in the first place. When dealing with me some feel confused about me, some feel frustrated by me, some dislike me, some quite like me—but if they cared enough most of them, I think, would be somewhat fascinated by (their idea of) me. Paradoxically, the less separate I feel from them (us) the more separate they seem to feel from me. The less there is of me and the more I loosen & relax into (us as) life they tend to project more and more of their issues onto me. In other words, people relate to people like me exactly the way they relate to life. It’s not personal at all. It’s just weird.


There is no point to it and there is no meaning of it. There is nothing inherent about it. There is only the resplendent truth of it and our (personal) relationship to the truth of it.

Blessed Are The Meek [This piece was inspired by and created under the influence of Slugabed’s ”Earth is Gone Sorry” Feat. Lum]

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

Fact of the Matter

Things go awry (emotionally) when I take them personally—which is natural, this is what an I is supposed to be doing anyway. The I is geared towards experiencing frustration since that’s what sustains (the sense of) it. Once the recognition arises, though, that the person who takes things personally doesn’t exist and the world this person enacts and the struggle that it experiences in this world is only as real as an optical illusion is real then there will be less and less inclination to avoid the truth of the moment. Once the recognition arises that  I can either rest in the truth or I can be driven by frustration: there is less and less inclination to do the latter.

Life Without ‘Me’

The sense that I gets is that: It’s painfully inconsequential. There is nobody to promote, nobody to work (=struggle & suffer) for and nobody to build up. Which feels so abysmally flat. It feels like death. ’’Just life’’ without a grounding center. It feels groundless and totally meaningless. No boundary, no purpose, no project, no hope. And absolutely no control, since there is no need for that anymore. It feels almost bleak and yet immensely colorful at the same time. It’s not moving at all and it’s not warping around a self. There is no funneling. No congealing. No process and no progress whatsoever. It simply surrounds, all around, fully, gently, blooming, undulating. No path, no direction, no reference—just flat embeddedness. Laid out, spreading and sprawling. This moment. Almost radiant. Not quite radiant. I don’t know. No idea. Not the faintest. Just some brightness.


Here’s another installment of a dramatized internal conflict in the form of a dialogue. I’ll cut to the chase right away and keep it pretty succinct—to reproduce it [the tempo of my mind] as realistically as possible. Admittedly, it may feel pretty fast-paced and somewhat illogical & disjointed at places as a result:

M: Let’s be honest: I still choose contraction over relaxation. I still choose to delay a projected prospect of gratification. I still choose to work on the project of self-actualization, and therefore I still choose to hold back and keep my gut tense. I still choose constipation over free flow. I still choose the illusion of separateness and the illusion of agency & control. I still go with the flow of the ego & dismiss the flow of the truth. Etc.

Q: Ok, now that you profess to be honest, let’s get clear too. First off, why do you think you choose holding back?

M: … Because I want to prove. I want to prove that what I do works. I want to prove ’’them’’ wrong. I want to prove myself to them. I want to prove, to be approved. If I gave up now decades of effort would go down the drain.

Q: [I, I, I, I, I, lololol] What is it that You want to prove to ’’them’’?

M: … I want them to finally see that I’m fascinating. I want them to be humbled by how right and how cool I am, by how good of a taste and style and blowing mind I have. I want them to become silent but raving fans of me.

Q: [And You, You, You, You, You attempt to do that (i.e. proving your truth) by holding back…WTF?] Why do you want ’’them’’ to be fascinated?

M: … So that I can finally relax knowing that they finally see & appreciate me and I don’t have to prove anything anymore.

Q: [Keep pushing to get to rest?—Hmm.] What exactly do you want them to ’’see’’?

M: I want them to see how amazing I am.

Q: Why?

M: Again, so that I can relax.

Q: Right. So, what happens when you relax?

M: It means (feeds back as the sense) that I succeeded in proving my point. I’ll be seen & appreciated at long last.

Q: So you feel ’’they’’ don’t appreciate you now. Do you appreciate ’’them’’ by the way?

M: … Only those who are real.

Q: Right. So, who is ’’real’’ for you? [Are you?]

M: … Someone who totally lets go and speaks & lives the(ir) truth without fear. Someone who feels no need to take things personally and engages life & others with absolutely no strings attached. Someone who has transcended the bounds of their petty self-concern and shines without any sense of shame or guilt or anxiety.

Q: Do you see the paradox here?

M: … Yes, I guess, I do—Admittedly, I always feel at my best when I allow a selfless flow determine they way I engage. I feel in the zone when I’m in the zone. It’s a paradox indeed, in that: Basically, I want others to acknowledge me for something I don’t actually do but RELAX into at times, that is: I want to take credit for what comes through me DESPITE of me.

Q: Do you feel the absurdity of this paradox?

M: … Well, let me sort this out: I want them to see (amazing) me so that I can relax. And yet, I feel amazing precisely when I’m simply relaxed into my actions and I don’t even care whether I’m seen or not since there is not much of an I there to begin with. I is only an after-thought which then all of a sudden takes over and demands to reproduce the sensation after the fact and feels frustrated by failing at [reclaiming] it. Or something like that, I guess.

Q: Or something like that, yes. Now, where do we go from here?

M: I know. I know. I gotta go with the truth. And drop all defense and speak the truth and live the truth and be the truth. And I must align because I want to align and to align I can’t wobble too much so I must keep an even keel & follow the lead of the truth, all the way.

Q: Or else?

M: Or else it’s a waste of a lifetime spent in endless yo-yoing between, say, supper & next day struggle.

Q: Well, I would tone the melodramatic vibe down a bit but I say: Right on Márk. [Sort of.]

/Reading back this dialogue a few days later: I cannot help but feel amused how the ego [M] proceeds to give foolproof, well-rehearsed advice on how to transcend itself at the end. The only parts worth paying any sincere attention to are the bracketed comments. The rest is [smart-ass] nonsense./


I can spin the wheels as much as I want. I can spin them as intensely as I wish. I can feel cheated, unfairly dealt & treated, victimized and abused. I can argue with the truth of this moment as much as I wish. I can argue that I merit more. I can argue that I deserve better because I’ve put in plenty of effort and I sacrifice a lot more than others. Again, I can spin the wheels as much as I wish. I can dismiss the truth as much as I please. By all means. I can argue with it till the day that I run out of any emotional gas to spin my worn-out wheels in the quicksand of my nonsense, I can. Nay, I can dismiss it till the day I give up that spent ghost of mine. But the fact still remains: till I hold back, and up & out and off & on, life holds back too.