It has been months since the last entry was posted on this blog.

Writer’s block? No. Rather, there has been a Fullness of the absence of words. Not great for a blog, certainly not what was intended when this site was formed, but there It Is – oblivious to this laughable sense of expectation.

What the absence feels like is unimaginable freedom. Conscious Listening. Wordless watching. Shifting awareness from the content of Consciousness to Consciousness Itself – from awareness of form to the awareness of Awareness. Disengaging from articulation, knowing, defining, formulating, connecting, realizing and even arriving at an “AHA!” as a goal – something strange indeed for one with such a habit making sense of the world “out there” as it relates to the one “in here” through the process of arriving at some discovered and then communicated insight.

And indeed, if there is a reliance on a sense of a world “out there” and “one in here,” of multiplicity and distinction (separation, as opposed to individuation) those acts seem necessary to attempt to arrive at a sense of singularity. Funny thing is, using the mind, the intellect cannot arrive at singularity. At best, it forms a quilt, a mosaic. Beautiful as a form, but not Oneness. Singularity cannot be arrived at – It simply Is. Indescructable. Immutable. Eternal. The sense of Touching, of Being the Eternal cannot be described; it is felt here as Awareness of and as Infinite Presence where location, form, identification, etc. have no absolutely meaning.

What turning away from thought felt like at first was pure hell – withdrawal from a reliance on words and feeling pummeled by their seemingly never-ending resiliency. Experiencing both attachment and resistance to them violently – in fact, to any engagement in thought and its stitched sense of story. It made withdrawing from alcohol and drugs seem like child’s play – that intense. In this experience, reliance on thought has been felt as the most hideous and stubborn of addictions. At its most intense, turning away from thought as a conscious act felt like being tossed out of an airplane without a parachute – there was the vague awareness of awe and wonder of the wind and the weightlessness, but an inability to enjoy It while absorbed the terror of an impending impact.

One has to jump to discover there is no impact. At some point, experienced here after a slobbering surrender to an inability to do anything whatsoever about anything, the sense of falling stopped. Everything stopped. Everything just stopped. Where could Infinity possibly move?

What the absence of words feels like now is bliss. Feelings, sensations, emotions, concern still appear and disappear, but something of experience has shifted as it will again and again and again. When words appear as they do now, they are not sensed as belonging to a me, which seems like the silliest thought of all. They are strangely beautiful, like the grass and the wind. Surreal. Dreamlike. They have no intrinsic meaning, no purpose, no point. They will disappear again into the Fullness of absence.

Absolutely remarkable. Yet, the only remark applicable is none at all.