This Terrible Love, a journal of nonduality

  From time to time, someone writes that they feel a deep connection with me and are sincerely and even desperately seeking this that I seem to speak about. Sometimes they are ones who have only written me, other times I met them at a retreat or in my past apparent travels. One man wrote that it was as if we who speak of this lived in another world. But there is only one world, and not even that. Yet the world of separation has become a fable of ghosts and phantoms, held together by beliefs, as dramatic and filled with emotion and seeming turmoil as any fairy tale, and no less nor more real. Sometimes one who believes in a separate self imagines I can love them and help them find what they think I have. But the love that I know would only break their heart and destroy them, not complete them as they imagine. I do not live in a world they can ever understand, though it is more accurate to say that none live in a world any imagined one can ever comprehend. And there is no way to gi

  All the words keep writing themselves, but it happens more often that when people send messages asking a question about what I’ve written, I have to go back and read what was posted. It doesn’t seem like I have written anything at all. I wonder what the doctors will say as I lay in the nursing home at the not-quite-young age of 32 with a self-diagnosed case of nonduality-induced senility. “What creates the character?” asks the young man who is working on figuring this out. He has watched “almost the all videos on the nothing TV channel you recommend me. I am knowing more each time I watching.” He is not a native English speaker, and sometimes I love to hear the way English sounds when it is put together like puzzle pieces. Though more and more that is how it always sounds. I write back that the character was dreamed up, by what I could not say, though more than once in the apparent past I would say "life." But that was really no better an answer than saying everything and n