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There is only being, it is impossible to miss it. The "bad" news is that there is nobody to enjoy it, and there has never been. Let's celebrate. Being, absolutely undeniable. Undivided. All the rest – the sensible, the intelligible, the emotional – is improvable. It is impossible to know anything, but everything appears in being. No other. Perfect solipsism1 with nobody. And there is only love. |
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Another good bad news is that there is nothing to be done2. All seeking is a perfect nonsense, a perfection with no issue, including the seeming imperfection. It is useless to seek elsewhere what is always there and has never been lost. All ways lead to nowhere. But the quest itself appears in being. Nothing is needed to be. Actually, nothing ever happens. It is like this, everything emerges in being, the illusion is not excluded, nothing is excluded. Being is nothing, neither subject, not object, neither this, nor that. Nevertheless all is there, masks of nobody woven of void, mountains, streams, war and peace, stars, sun and moon, apes and humans, rats and shit, rocks, trees, flowers, animals, sky and earth, water and fire, and yes, Microsoft... Yeah, yeah. Stillness.
Sexy
Being
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1 Latin: solus, alone + ipse, self. Alone the self is real, whereas all the "I" and the world represent only the content of the consciousness without their own existence. 2 in answer to Lenin's question "What is do be done?"
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