[Noone to Die]
It’s just so strange. I’m talking to myself talking to myself talking to myself.
Then, there you sit, reading to yourself reading yourself talking to myself talking to myself.
Consciousness turned in on itself is like trying to put out fire with fire.
That is the art of no-consciousness. Consciousness is simply the fire.
How does one go beyond the feeling there is nothing outside feeling,
that is to say, nothing beyond Me?
Why is it insisted upon Awakening was ever the point?
The point was to forget – to forget!
Death is mercy, we say.
But oh what happens when you know Death itself is dead.
Because there is noone to die.
And there never was a You alive.
Suicide is ridiculous, here.
There is no suicide.
There is no death.
There is no life.
But there is
this waving,
this eyeing,
this I’ing.
Goddamnit I AM the Stream!
["Who am I" is itself a thought)
Who am I!
Who am i is itself a thought -
a concept question to the concept self.
This text, this concept, this thisness forming a linear reverie before the mind's eye isn't real,
because the real is beyond the bits of thought which I identify as I.
That is precisely what's happening when I ask in a panic who am I,
to which no words, no concepts respond -
and that is the moment of both sheer terror and satori.
Having forgotten to manually pull up my bootstraps, I found myself afloat in space.
The operator is the acting on the manual lever, to activate the bootstraps.
The operator is who I think I am.
Working the lever manually is the attempt to answer a question made of nothing real,
of which nothing real is the conceptual stream.
A conceptual self working a conceptual action on a concept.
All of that which that has just been passed out of this mind into yours is sheer nonsense - that is,
it no longer exists having stopped reading immediately now.
Two pieces I wrote in better moments. I thought you might like them in regards to your post.
Genesis is Now, the Mind is Incarnate.