This Terrible Love, a journal of nonduality

  It makes me giggle and also tear up when you hear them say this is it and you say, "yeah, I got it," and then you want "this" to be more than this, to be some thing called Oneness or Unconditional Love or whatever they can say to make you feel like there is more than this bittersweet ephemeral instant. You hear them speak and you are so ready, you want to sacrifice what you thought of as your life the way they seem to have done so you can have the end of suffering and the freedom and liberation they describe. They say no one gets that, but it's fine if it's for no one at all, cause you imagine it must feel better when the umbilical cord to the imaginary self is cut and nothing is taken as personal ever again. So when they say you wouldn't want this, they sound like they live in some imaginary world no one else can ever comprehend, and that is both true and false, but you get enough of the message to know that, yes, you really do want the very end of ...

    On the edge of the lake she imagined she saw the sea monster's head show itself, barely perceptible, then there was the tiniest splash and the lake was still.  She still appeared to have memories, but she could no longer say what they were or to who they belonged. Sometimes it seemed as if she was making everything up on the spot, an improvisation that came from a sourceless scriptwriter sitting in her convoluted candy apple brain. Life and death, love, truth, war and peace, enlightenment, sorrow and joy; all the concepts she could imagine, all the words, had no more meaning. There was not a thing she had not done and not a thing that she had. There was not a dream that was not her own and yet she had never dreamed at all.    She saw a video of a man saying he was no one and she started to cry. If he only knew what he was so sure he did not know....There was nothing she saw that was not so heartbreakingly beautiful that it did not move her to tears. But, in ...