This Terrible Love, a journal of nonduality

  And one day she noticed her mind that belonged to no one--- not to her, not to God, not to some mystical force called Consciousness or Awareness or some magical sounding foreign word--- that "mind," which was something she had been told was there but had never found, well, it wandered away. And the body they called by a name to mean that wispy ghost of a girl seemed to get up and walk slowly out the door, even though up on stage some man was pontificating, though he kept saying no one was talking. And in another room that she walked out of, another man in a robe was saying you have to want the truth but had never explained exactly what that thing he called truth could be. And as she walked out, people seemed annoyed--- even if they were supposed to be in some sublime state above annoyance or know that their annoyance was simply happening to no one at all.     The girl walked outside and the birds started singing--- well, no doubt they had been singing, but how could she...

  not even this     there is just an apparent  seamless flow of experience,  it needs no one to explain or interpret it  or do anything at all,  for you are it, inseparable,  a spun web of unbroken wonderment  imagining there is a way to say  what will never be spoken.   and every beautifully futile effort  is where the heart of love  bleeds us all into being,  and words or no words  only silence remains,  echoing like a symphony into the forest  where seekers hike in search  of the never lost or found,  imagining they can feel the emptiness  they have named and turned into a thing...   and one surreal afternoon  after the birth of language, humanity invoked the world  into apparent existence  with innocent prayers,  like children playing with hand grenades,  turning shapeless forms and intangible sensations  into separate objects and concepts and people...