Running on Empty
Q: Tell me how life is different since The shift?
A: Here then immediately the story begins. Straight away. However the question was asked. And seems like there will be a response. And here is that response.
There is no shift. There really is no shift.
And yet somehow the apparent gas (the person) that was definitely fueling the vehicle has run out completely. Zero. No gas left and yet the car still runs. Surprisingly smoother and more ordinary than before. Was always running without fuel though.
The character remains. Nobody doing anything. Nobody doing the trees, the traffic, the feelings, the voice, the actions... Just what is appearing and what always was. Not a nobody being somebody who is a nobody doing this. No one. Relief for no one. Apparent relief appearing. Too many words in a story. And still....
Just being a character. It seems no longer looking for nirvana, or to be special, be at one, be liberated, know what it is like to be no-one or loved more or whatever. No longer there to seek for other. There was a lot invested in that search.
Was there? Not really.. That was what was appearing to happen.
Still seems to get nervous if he is hungover or grumpy if he doesn't sleep or quick mouthed if he is fasting.
This is not at all what I was looking for.
I would have like to have been king of the enlightened world
More enlightened than all the masters.
There. Just there man. Arrived.
Arrived and also being able to say I have arrived.
When all of that is gone, when that which can gain from any shift is gone, the character remains and ordinary life continues however it does. However it appears.
Life. Life. But you do not get to get it. Just life. And it’s not life anymore. It’s not a thing. Not anything. Just . ...
The dream is constantly changing. But still the dream.
Frank is way more ordinary than ever. He had big big ideas and plans.
Now they come and go and have no bearing on what is...
Though I was really efficient. Fast. Got things done. Move move.. Go go.
But that has totally stopped. It seems like gear 4 & 5 have gone in daily life. 3rd gear all the way.
This has been falling apart for 20 odd years.. It took this long for the shock of this. Story but there you go. I can’t explain that last sentence. Because this is always seen. Always.
What is left is whatever he appears to be doing which is way too many words.
It would seem that a recurring theme was the desire to earn money without having to deal with bullshit and politics and apparent authority. I am pretty sure that is this character then. Never ever liked to be boxed in or closed off or cornered or someone's property or owned. That is still there..apparently. But well and the funny thing is, that is totally irrelevant. It is a wonder that marriage happened and kids etc..But obviously it did because there is no one. Hahaha...ah frankie....
If i was to be specific. I seem to be a lot lazier. But somehow things get done.
Perhaps when the 'me loop thing' ends, so too is all the effort that me was apparently making. 'Oh God I really worked hard at that. I'm exhausted from all the effort I put in...etc etc...' All the pointless worry.. but to be clear that could still happen. Just work gets done. And the effort is no longer personal. You see when the question is asked you get nothing but stories. But so what. The drama is gone out of the play..for the most part..and the play continues.. I'm not doing anything and yet it would appear like things are getting done. But not in a sitting back and watching it unfolding it magical sort of way...its too intimate this being alive.. there is nothing safe and once removed from this aliveness. Every inch is being done. So whatever is being said or written or felt is this. You can’t get out of it but thankfully there is no one that can. There is no one. Always. Just words my love. Already. Already totally and utterly no one. What else do you imagine this to be? Whatever seems to be being imagined.
Is there a falling away of traits? Dunno. Is the skin falling off more and more. It could be..Not sure why those words are there but well...call the police..there is no why and no one.... But the one fundamental is this unfolding. And nobody there to gain or notice..because it is the unfolding...and yet I might go from time to time....oooh interesting that that is how that was done..or thoughts of....that was interesting how i spoke there..not really how i would have spoken....but that is not seen by anyone that too is happening by itself..In other words...that thought about observation is just happening... Fucking hell amazing... fucking hell amazing that fucking hell amazing is being written...hahah...
Perhaps an openness to whomever...yes seems to be drawn to some versus others but the openness for all is there..not in a ‘I love everyone’ type way..Just openness. the door is open.....still don’t like large groups and being talked at..nerves may happen in front of a beautiful woman..yeah definitely..hahah...or not......but the sense of ‘that is my friend and that is not’ ..that does not seem to be the same. Friendshiping can happen though..This is called making a mountain out of a mole hill. But sure look.
If you want another story..This is all of us. This is ourselves. Every inch. I am you. We are each other. And we are not. I seem to like to say it like that. We are each other. Thoughts and body and blah blah blah appear different like every leaf but we are each other but we are not and Nothing is appearing to happen. We are each other and we are not. BUT This is not anything at all. It’s all gone. Empty. Full.
This stunning embrace. This full on I just cannot speak of. That’s a story but I seem to want to say that. We are each other but we are not..and you cannot hold on to that sentence but I have to say it like that.... or This just seems to be what I am writing........ We are each other.
And we shall never meet. Because we are not thankfully. Its a story but some stories...well...this is the story that frankie is saying...others will say liberation and oneness or perfect lover..i am gonna say here for a moment...for pretending sake for jov or for playfulness....oooooh we are each other and we are not.. Maybe a painting could capture that loss and that love and that dance of no one.. These words cannot. This is our eternal song never sad nor happy...our song to ourselves..going nowhere..here we always are just before midnight in-between the garden of good and evil...... And the problem is that this is not true .Nothing is.... But well, this is what I am writing. This is a safe space is it not??.. Hahaha...Can someone please escort Frank from the non dual meeting room. He is embarrassing himself...and not what nobody should be writing. HAhaha We are fucking spectacular. I mean really... We should all take a massive bow... We should all give ourselves the very best round of applause...Each and everyone. From hero to villain. Well done all. Oscars all round.
For the mind.. shock can come in..the holy fuck...the enormity..the great unsaid..and that this is just an echo of the whole...the whole appearing as a description of the whole....the timeless story less everything...mind is story..
...mind..pure imagination...every tiny thing is imbued with story.......a woooahhh what the fup..This is 'this' appearing 'as shock about this'.. Fuckkkk....
This. So stunning and plain and boring and ordinary and fucking gorgeous.... But rich in its simplicity. The greatest show in town. There is still a character and thoughts about death arise and worries about children and the possibility of their sadness was I not there to hug them and money and friendship and whatever..desires....don't get me started on desires.....but just up and up and away......thoughts about having a coffee and thoughts about death....the same..yes thoughts about coffee and thoughts about death...just all thoughts.....just ra ra...ra ra....just the tree leafing and the character thinking..just thinking........a character that wishes this could be a lot happier for apparent others, who shakes his head about certain people, a character that wants to lift sadness from anyone he imagines to be sad....a character that wants adventure, wants to just go wherever..wants to walk out the door and keep walking till he is no longer walking....doesn’t want to hurt anyone but recognizing the impossibleness of that...wants everyone to stop pretending and to come out and play and play and talk and play and chat and laugh and drink and have ciggies and laugh and cry and shout.....LOOK this is apparently happening.. Woohoo....Hey... Look...anyone wanna come out and play ...but they are just thoughts.. No..just thoughts..because nothing is denied.....falling away...collapsing always collapsing..AND as relevant as toilet paper...this story entrapping everything..trying to bind no thing into things...every inch a rabbit hole ..hooks and baits in every corner..this is the trip of trips...each spec an alleyway...but well that is how it is. Nothing left to change that. If there was someone left, they wouldn't have it like that, they would negotiate to not have it like how it is..to have it other and better and more at peace..to stop the thoughts and have pure thoughts..... It would sound like x and y and would be a certain way and it would be called a name of some sort..It would be very much at one and serious and stern.....” ‘It should be like this cos that is how I know it to be’ is the echo of the seeker. So life is how it is. Even if then something arises that may want for things to change..arising..falling. I wonder would my wife say.....what shift??... he is still the same dickhead...or does that liquid air seep in...this openness..not my openenss....but stories upon stories......
Have I changed since the shift? Nope. There was no shift. Same dickhead. Different day.
and yet here we always are...playing constantly...even playing with the idea that we should be playing more and laughing more and loving more and having more ciggies..just play..even not playing is playing.....hiding and pretending...every corner...every word....
I am describing what using the words 'I am describing' feels like. It’s over.
And really and I cant stress this enough. This is a story. All above and all below. A story. Imagine anything you want. But I swear already it’s over everywhere.. You are being done. Even the words ‘a story’ is a story..Ahhh... Nada. Nothing. Zero...and the reaction is being done and all...wow.
And then maybe the words come that there is in loveness..ordinary in loveness..now perhaps when I am writing this...the empty sense ...ohhhhh...All of this is a wondrous story. It's the greatest show in town and it seems like anything can happen..including this being typed. This was and is always falling apart though...coming together and falling apart...
... It would be lovely to share this if it was a thing that could be shared, if it could be had, and if there was anyone to have it and if there was anyone that could hear it..There is no one already...already no one....already...
Some stunning story this echo of ourselves ringing silently in our ears whispering we are not. And it can never be heard. This letter. This song. A message in a bottle from no one to no one. This dream that someone can read this essay. Hahahah. It’s devastating too but not really. Christ we fucking love stories.
oh love....its a great word all the same. love love love. And yet not even love baby. not even a drop of love. And that’s the love.