Wake Up Already

Forgetfulness is the mark of this world. What is the use of seeking that which is forgotten when the only way of finding it is to remember?!

What we have lost is not to be found in the world, for we are in the world precisely because we lost. World is the face of forgetfulness.

World is that which makes forget. To see the truth, that is to remember it, we must look away from the world.

Lost in the world we lust for the world. We are found only when we lose the lust.

The God that we seek, the God of all religions and philosophies, is an all too worldly God. The God that we had is the one doing the seeking. God, too, sank in forgetfulness when He looked at the world. God forgetting that He was God thinks He is man seeking God.

Oh, you deluded God! Drop your world-stories and wake up already.

That seeking always fails is because we are seeking around this world-square that which is also seeking us. We are chasing after something, and we know not that we are chasing after our own shadow. And yet, though seeking doesn’t find, not seeking doesn’t find either:┬áTruth is found not by our seeking but by waking up to our seeking.

“The face of truth is concealed by a golden vessel.” *

*Isha Upanishad

The Blanket of Truth

Don’t ever think that you are not home. You are home and you always been home because you are the home. This human life of yours to which you think you belong, this apparently vast cosmos in which you think you reside, all this is just the scenery. Your dearest attachments, your identity and personality, too, are in the scenery.

You have accepted too much and assimilated too little. You take from your soul what is concrete, the spirit, and add to the world what is abstract, matter. You steal the reality of your spirit and attribute it to the world. You have drained your own blood to color this world. My friend, you have forgotten the safety code: The traveler doesn’t get attached to the scenery. Shit happens, but what’s it to you?!

You are blinded by the blanket of truth. Fear not the faces and demons pained on the blanket. Fear only your own suffocation. Don’t see the faces; see the blanket. Don’t crawl deeper into your paranoia, just remove the blanket; remove it and see that you too were just a painting on that same blanket. Wake up and see that this reality of yours, your thoughts and memories, your beloved character, this whole universe and its objects, are all drawings on that one blanket. You are that blanket. Don’t confuse yourself with the folds and wrinkles, for the whole of this world is nothing but your folds and wrinkles.

You are home, and you are home alone, for you are already everyone and everything.