We run away from that which fills us toward that which drains us; we run away from God which is the source of consciousness and seek objects which consume our consciousness. All our pain and suffering comes from lack of consciousness, from losing ourselves to the objects of desire. Let go of these world objects and dive into God; everything you lose you will again in Him. Ask of God not what you want but what you need; pray Him to grant you more consciousness and He will give Himself to you.
Lose yourself to Him and you will become the universe.
Does a falling tree make a sound when there is no one to hear it?
Of course it doesn’t. Sound is something essentially heard. In the absence of a hearer sound has no existence of its own. The vibrations of the air that transmits sound are there, but sound is not the vibrations though it is associated with them.
The narrative in the mind that keeps telling my story to myself exists in exactly the same way: It exists so long as there is a listener; otherwise it has no actual existence though it may be associated with brain. My narrative derives its existence from me and not the other way around.
The moment my attention is withdrawn from the self-narrative and drawn towards an event, such as music or sex, that narrative ceases to exist for me and I am liberated from its reign. The Real element of my existence is not the narrative but the I: When I am not no narrative can be, but I can be without having a narrative. The moment of orgasm is perhaps the best example of being without being anyone as we are annihilated in the infinite energy of the now. The intense energy is released not from the outside but from the inside; the only thing blocking it, as is always the case, is our narrative. Thus, to get the best orgasm just fuck the narrative.
The mind has but one task, to project outwardly what rises within it. Mind throws the bone for us to bring it back. When we bring it back the mind will throw it again, and again, as this is its nature. So far as we look at the mind as our master we will be stuck in a never-ending chase after the bone. It always appears to us that mind has a purpose in doing so, that it will perhaps have a treat for us after all. This illusory appearance is what makes us chained in the vicious circle of pain and pleasure; this is the mechanism behind all addiction, and above all our addiction to the world.
Our freedom lies in the realization that we are the master, that it is the mind that is supposed to go after the bones we throw and not the other way around. Stop going after the bone; don’t mind the mind; let it throw all its bones; it will stop only after we stop. Stop and see that you are already is possession of all the treats promised by this tempting boner that is the mind. How did we forget that we were before the mind was?!
When I see you, when I lose myself to the irresistible sight of your eyes, to that evergreen noema, I like to light a cigarette and go back to Heidegger, I like to throw myself into that inexpressible abyss of rootless existence, into Dostoevsky’s night walks in Saint Petersburg, into Andrei Tarkovsky’s long shots and Nostalghia, those essential encounters in the inessential life of a child who lost his virginity to partial doubt and found it back in total doubt. My darling, for you I let go of all faith and hope, of all desires and aspirations, of heaven, and even of the desire of having you for myself. My darling, you make me want to remain a fallen man, and a fallen man I shall remain. Our union is the death of our love.
What is my faith but a pale image of you that I keep when I can’t see you; what need is there for faith when I can behold you?
Oh my dear, I am not just fallen; I have fell and still falling, falling in love with you and the enigma of your presence. But you are as fallen as me. You are as shattered as the impostors of your celestial beauty. For you I fall and shatter myself even more until we become entangled forever, separate but one. Your beauty is in my eye and I am in your beauty.
My abundant love for you is neither for you nor from me; it belongs to the abyss between us, a vacuum that sucks our vitality into itself; we will at last evaporate into oblivion and what remains of us and this love is nothing but the fleeting Hawking Radiation, the sperm of another fallen love.
The life of God is the life of bliss and plenitude. If I may compare God to a waterfall insofar as His infinitude is understood as the constant flow and overabundance of grace, then man is like an empty vessel in the midst of God. If the vessel is pointed upward toward the source it will always remain full and satisfied. If the vessel is pointed downward away from the source it will always remain empty and insatiable despite being in the middle of plenitude.
Man as this vessel does not, and cannot, do anything in this life but to make an either/or choice with regard to his/her fundamental orientation relative to the origin: Man can either orient him/herself toward Him or away from Him; everything else happens on its own accord and due to His overflowing grace.
There lies deep in the heart of man something at whose sight everything else will be understood, at whose sight all questions are answered and all desires satisfied. It has no name, for it is itself that which gives all else their names.
Some understand us because they have seen, and some don’t because they have not seen. It should suffice us to say that it is understanding that comes from seeing and not seeing from understanding.