August 28th 2026
Drops of Coffee
As I start writing this. I wonder will the words change? That is the starting point. Or the curiosity with which this writing has begun. Will, when this urge to write appears about ‘this’, will suddenly the words become something different. Will I suddenly change to writing in a different way, or talk in a different way or have some glorious insights or would anything at all change.
And it is so totally obvious that it would be impossible. The impossibility is because nothing was ever been achieved or had or received or gained. This is not a way to talk cleverly. There is nothing hidden in those words. Nothing is not a thing.
I am pretty sure it would be like trying to eat someone else’s vomit and spew it out as if it were my own fresh fruit. It would be inherited knowledge. Freeze dried fruit. So its not that I am deciding this or making a decision to not write differently or whatever. It is because it would be impossible.
Now I could write to you how this morning I looked at the sun rising early over the Irish Sea as I tried to balance my mug of coffee and not spill any with two dogs pulling very hard on their lead, how my toes felt like they were going to be cut by my flip flops so I took them off and walked on the dew soaked grass. The cold grass was a comfort.
Bonnie came home the last day from our short morning walk with brown drops on her noise and my wife commented on the new design on our golden retrievers nose of coffee drops.
And some days I get the vibe to write and write and write. But nothing happens. And no it is not that I am filled with some sort of glorious enlightened soul bursting with joy that I feel the urge to write.. It just builds like hunger or thirst except perhaps the opposite.. Its outward. And here we are. To express or create with no reason.
What I do notice in the writing and talking is this repetitive urge to explain nothing happened or qualify. It is like this general Not this. Not that. I am not sure why apart from it feels like the only impossible element “that nothing is the gift that cannot be given or received”. It feels like the only thing that love might want to say for that which is seeking and seeking. And it is so difficult to explain that it seems like a boundless well but made of fucking nothing.
This is not an antidote to seeking. Seeking is what appears to happen.
Every word making something out of it. And the worst of those words is “it”. As if there is an it that was other than.
Nothing is not a thing to be had. No one can have nothing. Nothing is not apart. To even mention it pings a brain into imagining nothing.
So then of course this communication cannot change. If I was orchestrating this it definitely surely could. And I would be a gazillionaire teacher of wonder, joy, peace etc etc. I would grow my beard very long because I wouldn’t care how I looked.. and surely I would look like what such a character might look like. A character who had something… I could teach you. If I knew how to know. I could show you how to breathe correctly, think correctly, dream correctly and even manifest etc etc.. And if I knew how to grow a tiny hair on my finger, then I would surely be a master of all this.
The relief is the total poverty. That nothing was attained. For to have to uphold some image of something would surely be too heavy for this bald aging man. In spite of his attempts to lift weights and exercise etc etc, being someone would perhaps be the heaviest of tasks. Of course then you cannot be no one. As we would be back in images. Someone that was a no one.
Alas this is unknowing so much so that unknowing cannot be known. And all that is left is what appears to be happening however that is. Including simply looking at the incorrect spelling of this wurd..
