When I died I was finally alive. Nothing recognized nothing and was as if the stain of the illusory past was lifted from the veil of knowing, it was obvious I never was and nothing left its mark. There was no one to die because I was never born. The end of resistance which no one can choose to do was a homecoming of every polarity, a marriage of everything loved and everything despised in the sanctuary of nothingness that it always was. The relative is the absolute. An ecstatic all-inclusive energy unfurling and erotically penetrating everything. An ouroboros devouring whole, having intercourse with itself by being everything. This is beyond intimacy. All opposites collided into a nakedness that’s raw, wild, and primordial. It always was total chaos but the appearance of continuity I called time made it appear ordered. Trying to hold on to what’s appearing seemed to glue the film strip together in a story I called the past, a “B” movie that I referred to as “I exist!” When this is recognized by no one, there’s nothing to hold onto. It’s game over. At the funeral pyre of “me” all meaning dissolved which revealed that meaning was the prison I put freedom in. Meaning made what was happening appear real which boxed up and limited what was appearing as identifiable or predictable appearing to suck the life out of it. When you’re no one you’re everyone when you are nothing you are everything and this already is that. There is no individual. There is no separation. When there’s no one looking for it, it’s found that it just is. It always is. When there’s no one trying to know it, it’s free to be. It can’t be known. It’s eternal. Each moment a clean slate where the so-called appearance “before” burned up in the incinerator of emptiness never to be found. No one is reading this. You can’t know this because you are the unknown. Nothing ever happened. Nothing is happening. Like being in love it aches. This is freedom!
