who are you
when you’re not constantly
on social media?
when you’re not sharing
your selfies, your mundane and mediocre
when you’re not broadcasting
your insights, your threadbare, faded
what do you see
when you’re not there
telling yourself the old stories
(identify – label – judge)?
when there’s no observer
standing separate from
texture, color, energy?
when time and space
disappear, taking out your memorybank (poof!)
leaving . . . . . . . . . what?
who are you in that apocalyptic instant
when you realise that
every hard-earned conviction you hold
is merely an empty concept?
who are you when you aren’t there?
[conceptual answers not permitted; keep emptying!]
Drawing by Michael Leunig – it also accompanies this post from the early days of ‘the echoes’:
sitting in this leaky boat called ‘me’
awakening is easy;
wideawakeness is the natural state of any sentient being
so no one has ever been anything but fully awake
so, why does it appear to be difficult to r-e-a-l-i-z-e?
simply because we fail to examine two notions that are automatically acquired,
assumed to be true, and that become set in concrete in our thinking:
1 there’s a separate entity here (somewhere) that thinks thoughts, performs actions, is independent and bears ‘my’ name
2 said entity and its life are imperfect, unsatisfactory, bound, limited and therefore in need of improvement, salvation and awakening
yet no one, among all the billions of human beings
who have incarnated throughout time,
has ever been able
to find that entity
Image – artist unknown.
The absence of striving brings the arrival of quietude.
It’s nothing ecstatic or amazing; just the palpable absence of dis-ease.
No goodness, no evil, no victim and no saint.
No protection, no danger, no salvation.
Nothing to be done and no one to do it.
No past, no future, no one going anywhere.
Sounds like the end of ‘your’ world?
But Life dances on.
My feet are clumsy; I’m still getting used to ITs wild rhythm.
bondage is merely a belief
who’s the believer that buys this belief?
who’s the prisoner that’s bound
– or not, for that matter?
who’s the victim needing salvation
where oh where can this ‘who’ be found?
who hoo t’whoo? asks owl
closing his bigBuddha eyes for the day
bally hoo bally hoo! says dove
getting on with getting on
wank wank wank! scolds willywagtail
enjoying his morning splash-about bath
(and ensuring it’s empty for the late-comers)
fictional self hangs on its tailor-made cross
first, self swallowed its own story,
and then it dreamed up the ‘cross’ concept
to hang its guilty suffering self upon
then, of course it needed to invent
best way out?
invent a hereafter, with exclusive admission rights
this keeps self in business – selling sure salvation
but this is what I have seen with savage clarity:
the whole ‘solid-state self’ story is a fake,
a huge human hoodwink
no self : no doership
no doership : no suffering
no suffering : no salvation