This Terrible Love, a journal of nonduality

She failed at ever knowing who or what or why she was. Fortunately that was never one of her goals, though it is for many who write her. They imagine she knows the answers to questions they only ask because they heard someone else ask or try to answer them. She failed at everything else in her life, too, she supposes, but the very idea of failure or success disappeared, along with any one who might be concerned about it.   All there is, is description. Humans seem to speak or write words that arise and are somehow interpreted. But the entire process of how or why they arise or are interpreted is ultimately invisible. We would have to find the source of everything to know that, but "everything" is just one more thought.   There is a cipher, a symbol for all that seems to appear. This writing can be said to come from a Miranda thingie, but if you ask her what she is, she has no idea. 'Appearance' is as good a word as any. She is not a character, not a true self, not co...

  A lot of times nonduality speakers sound exactly like what they call themselves: "Speakers." They seem like lecturers, maybe philosophers who had a seemingly rare experience that showed them what can never be truly explained. But their talks are nothing but explanations. They will from time to time say this is unknowable and there is nothing to say, but words of exposition pour out of their mouths.   I actually like a lot of those words---they seem as close to talking about what cannot be talked about as any words can come. But I remember this old song by David Bowie that my brother used to like, called Young Americans. At one point the music stops and he sings the line, "Ain't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry?" And I guess it's felt that way here.    The words that truly resonate in a way I cannot even express go far beyond seeming explanations or descriptions of some thing called nonduality. I know such resonance by whether tears s...

  People come and leave boxes. We unpack and move them from one seeming place to another. Dishes seem dirty, then they are washed, but that process is as impossible to comprehend as why a black hole’s accretion disk seems to align with the black hole’s equator. It's funny when people talk of the me or the no-me and it sounds as casual as a chat about whether to get Peri-Peri chicken at Nando’s. And yet maybe it is the most mundane and ordinary subject in the world. It just seems that what is happening is not communication. The bodymind character (lol) that seems to speak of this is not talking about the same thing as the ones that seem to listen and imagine they understand. But it’s all a world of phantoms and ghosts; no one is talking or listening. After all, if they were, what could even be said? There are really nice sleeping bags and all sorts of upscale camping gear. Which is funny, as the people that come here for the retreat at most hike no more than a few kilometers ...

  All definitions of this that appear to give you a solid explanation are only placeholders for nothing at all. Thoughts appear and concepts appear, yet thoughts and concepts are only thoughts and concepts, as if that explains what is going on. No one can do anything for there is no one to do anything. The character is simply a description of what can never be known or described. Right now, how are you aware? How are you seeming to read these words? How do you seem to feel emotion? No one ever has answered those questions. Nor are you nothing or emptiness or the absolute, for those are more stories written with wind upon pages made of air. This is unknowable, and even the concept of knowing and unknowing is a lie. Trying to understand this logically is like trying to light a match in the midst of a forest fire. I am not saying anyone should stop trying, for no one is doing or not doing. If all is unreal or all is true it would be indistinguishable, because those are concepts...

  All those messages, people with opinions, and there is the shadow of a Miranda girl having one as well, but sometimes her words fall away like the end of an autumn storm, a few light showers, and then just moisture that can’t even form a tear drop of rain.   A few people wrote that I was immoral after I posted a quote I didn’t even notice had something potentially controversial in it. But I get that a lot. It’s stranger when someone says I’m some kind of holy person. Really, there’s not much anyone can say that seems like it's addressed to any person at all. Sometimes people laugh and sometimes they cry here at the silent retreat. It’s like little cartoon panels with the place for the words empty, as I’ll never know what is bringing tears or the laughter. But then, no one knows, even if they have a story about it. Even with a million words and thoughts and explanations,  you will never know why you seem to laugh or cry any more than you know why the stars blink in t...