Updated: Nov 1, 2021
It’s always new. No reference or starting point.
Seems some words are familiar.
But the describing is always new.
How wonderful that a script does not need to be remembered or learned.
The writing of these words is as close to the description that I want to give. The writing of. Not what’s been written. Not the words.
And really then nothing is being said and all words collapse in their meaninglessness.
Let’s pretend though. Again. Cos you like that. Let’s try to catch catching.
This is not an historic experience that is referred to.
It’s not a memory. It’s memorying. Yes. It’s experiencing. Yes. And it’s not a thing that is present. It’s the presentness of what is.
What is being talked about. Talking. What’s happening. This.
And for clarity cos I know you love clarity..... it’s not a this.
Inexplicable this appears as wanting to know and find this. Inexplicable this feels separate from this. Inexplicable this feels like it can return to this. And yet still it’s inexplicable this.
You are not doing the seeking. You won’t do the finding. Never lost baby. Never found.
It’s impossible though. Impossible. Impossible that the seeking is already it. Impossible for no one to recognise there is no one. It’s impossible and yet..look...look.. it’s..eh... looking baby.
This is like how it is. However that is, is.
If there was a you.
Perhaps there could be a you to fall away.
But already now.
No you seeking a no you. No you.
It’s that alone baby. We are that alone.
Your protestations to the contrary are the whole of everything fully being that.
No one BUT BUT BUTING.
No one seeking
No one nearly there
It’s that bad darling.
And no one will find out then that there is no one.
There is no one.
Let’s paint the town red!!!