What needs pointing to? What can even be pointed to? Nonduality is simply a story that isn’t true. This isn’t a belief or an idea or a philosophy, it’s never been about truth or lies or duality or nonduality.
Life is not about some human ideal of what it should be, but the miracle of what simply is. I have met those who live in places where bombs fall, a man who awakened on a battlefield in Afghanistan, those who were tortured as children, raped, dying of cancer when this miracle of inseparability was seen, and it is always expressed in the same way. Each using their own words and reference points, but the seamless dance of aliveness, the awe and wonder and love, sings through their voices.
Sometimes people ask questions, and answers arise. The ones I like best are the ones that sound like music, but I can't say they are true. Some say nonduality is a beautiful message, yet it is a rare and elusive beauty, perhaps impossible to describe.
No one is behind the face
It's as if the very same sense of aliveness that experiences the apparent world also tries to imagine it's non-existence, and it can't be done. And yet we imagine the idea of "oneness," because we believe that everything we see is separate and that there must be some underlying unity. Then we try to imagine or perceive "oneness," but no such thing can ever be found. Some say they see this "oneness" in an altered state of consciousness or some visionary experience, but that is simply a human having an experience. No more a truth about "reality" than what is seen in a nighttime dream.
There was an interview where Tony Parsons was explaining his perception. And at one point he says, “There is only the beloved, the beloved is speaking to you right now.” I don’t remember the rest of the interview, but it didn’t seem to matter.
It is the song of life and love that is weaving a dream undreamt, and what is going on is not any thing or event that appears to be happening in a separate place and time, for there is no place and there is no time. Nothing is happening to you and nothing is happening to me.
Life is more beautiful than I had ever imagined.
A lot of speakers tell their audience there is nothing they can offer them, but people still keep coming.
What they hear is a complete negation of every belief, idea, hope, or validation of their sense of personal identity.
Maybe there is something in many seekers that recognizes the truth in that, even if there is no way for anyone to do anything about it.
What needs pointing to? What can even be pointed to? I have often said that nonduality is simply a story that isn’t true. This isn’t a belief or an idea or a philosophy, it’s never been about truth or lies or duality or nonduality.
Lost in the woods she waited
Truly whether in the midst of the woods or in the midst of London it is the same, and no apparent dreamplace has ever seemed different, from the Cascade glaciers to Chicago, from the Carpathian mountains to Prague. It is the same whether locked in an overcrowded prison or living in solitude in a yurt on a hilltop.
Who could even know or say or see separately enough to imagine she knew anything? I don’t know anything at all.
Life makes us all drunk, I used to think it was the wine. But it all becomes one song I hear and every word is like seeing all your hearts when I look in the mirror. I carry them all with me, looking out the windows of a train, every one blending like a watercolor in the rain, all there is of me...
People ask me, “Who is a true sage?”
there is just an apparent seamless flow of experience
No one is inside, there isn't a person doing or saying or thinking, neither none nor one. So it is a paradox to imagine a real character in a world of fiction, and project qualities and intentions onto what are only phantom images seen in the smoke from a fire at night.
I have talked of feeling an emotion I call love that seemed a mixture of sadness and joy. Now I realize there is really only ever joy, but the kind of joy that cries tears of astonishment at the beautiful mystery of this dance of apparent existence. Phantasmagorical images painted upon the canvas of life in colors created to interpret that which is beyond interpretation.
There are words, and thoughts seem to float like leaves in the wind. But there is nothing behind them; there is no one with some idea or desire to arrive anywhere, to seek something truer or find any answers. All answers, and all questions, simply dissolve into this, swirling like a whirlpool in a stream, as if they were not simply the stream itself. And even the stream cannot be found....
This: An ineffable, indescribable dreamscape created by the apparent diversity of transient dancers of light and sound and shadow and feeling and all that is unnamable and mysterious, but is only ever this, without beginning or end, without me or you or any thing at all...yet appearing as everything, and gently covering us with a blanket of unconditional love.
Time and space are like the colors of the world. Your bodymind seems to conjure them up so you have a dancefloor to move upon, even when there is no floor at all.
If you do not see a path or feel yourself to be at the top of the mountain, it would not make sense to tell others how to find the way.
There is never anything we can find or attain or possess. This life is unfolding as it appears and the lived experience of perception, or as some say, awareness aware of itself, is not the province of the sage but of all who appear upon this ephemeral stage of dreams.
There is no thing to be reached and yet there may still seem as if there is something to understand. Even when this is apparently seen and experienced, understanding remains elusive. This isn't a perception that fits in with anything known in a logical way, and even when an explanation seems clear it is never quite "it."
Thoughts appear without meaning or non-meaning,
This is the prison break. The seeker thinks it is freedom, liberation, awakening, enlightenment; the guru complies by naming it all these positive, wonderful-sounding words. If it was instead called self-loss, no-being, endarkenment, there would be mostly empty seats at satsangs.
Endarkenment. That is what I name it. That is what I speak of, if anything at all.
Language often makes it sound like there is something tangible going on and someone to discover it. Life, love, god, nonduality, wholeness, oneness, awakening, liberation, this, true self, consciousness ... are only storybook fables.
every story meets every other story
Ever eluding definition, what appears needs no explanation, and all thoughts and beliefs about the nature of an imagined thing called "reality" simply feed the illusion of a separate self who knows something about its world.
Can a squirrel look at the pages of a book and grasp its meaning?
There is nothing that is not intimate beyond words. There is simply this intimate dance that enfolds whatever I appear to be along with all that seems to dance with me. Many try to find out who they are, or who others truly are, whether spiritually or psychologically or some other story telling tale of the separate self.
When it is somehow known without question that one’s apparent life is not one’s own, that there is no stage with separate actors but simply a single play in which all appear, the ability to attribute labels to what happens seems to fall away. In the movie you may see the demon chasing the little girl, but there is no separate demon, no little girl, just appearances. It is the very same in the movie we call “life.”
Every judgement is simply a projection of what we call the separate self, there is no other way it can arise. No one transcends anything. Life writes, and some characters see what they seem to see, but nothing is ever apart or free or awake, for nothing has ever been separate, imprisoned or asleep. No thing. Ever.