When the « I » collapses…
(Conf. in N.Y. city March 2, 2019 by Rosemarijn Roes)
It is so convincing that there is a me, with other people in the world, that it is never questioned. The search towards a better me, a better world seems the only way. But what if it is questioned? Everything you believed in, everything you held on to, is going to falter.
When the “I” collapses, it is immediately clear that nothing has happened, there is nothing happening anyway . It is clear the ‘I’ never existed anywhere, that everything is only an appearance, nothing is solid. It is there, and it is not. Everything is so normal, so exactly as it is. And it has always been like that.
Every complication disappears, nothing has any meaning at all, it just is.
This is so simple, and the beauty of it is that it is impossible to tell.
The falling away is not an event, it is only in the story that a process seems to happen over time.
Free will and time are seen as a illusion. Nothing is real.
It has nothing to do with a way of life.
It is not freedom without emotions or pain
It is not something you can reach
It is about loss
This is not knowing, nothing to hold on. Nothing is important or meaningful. Reason and explanation are only happening in the story, they are pointless.
Everything appears (apparently): walking, thoughts, a train. that is it, simply as it is. Biking along a busy road is only biking along a busy road. Nothing causes the wonder and the quiet excitement, it is there, for nobody.
What a wordless wonder, what a freedom.
Nothing is needed, nowhere to go, because everything is it. It is complete in itself, however it appears.
There is no inside and no outside, no beginning and no end, no cause and effect, no good or wrong. Only in the story.
There is pain and there is not. Incomprehensible and simple and direct as well.
What an open miracle what no words can tell.
What a disapointment for the one who is looking. For the me it it a mystery, and yet it is an open secret. In the apparent story nothing changes. There is tension, or there is not.
And yet everything is so different, impossible to describe.