Seeking freedom is freedom-seeking.
It’s already free as no one is doing it. The reading of the words is the words. The seeing is the seen. What’s solid is touch. If the resistance is what’s longed for then what could be resisted? When you stop wanting it you have it. There’s no you wanting it. No, it to want. When you stop looking for it it’s found. No, you to do or change. No, you that’s looking—impersonal appearances which are nothing. When the longing is seen by no one as what’s longed for, the seeker is the sought and the seeking appears to stop. The looker is it, the looking is it, what’s looked for is it. Not even an “it.” It” is this. This is everything. This is nothing. All the same. The “you” is it. The “me” is what you’re longing for, the separation is what you’re longing for, the resistance is what you’re longing for, the seeking is what you’re longing for. The longing is the lover. The lover longing for the lover. The missing puzzle piece of a puzzle that doesn’t exist. The end of resistance for no one. There was no one longing. It swallows everything. An inescapable embrace. The relative recognizes itself as the absolute which is and isn’t. The end of separation for no one. No one read this. Nothing happened.
