There’s a man breaking up my driveway. He’s turning it to rubble.
I expected this to happen.
Everything eternally overthrown and turned to rubble.
I spend a certain amount of my time deciding what’s a good thing and what’s a bad thing. As if my preference had some effect on how things turn out in the multiverse.
When exactly has anything ever turned out? Do I select a point on the light-speed unfolding and say, There!
I thought someone would show up with a backhoe or at least a jackhammer.
This man has a sledge, a pick and a pry bar.
He sets a pace and holds it.
I’m going to say that everything is instantaneous and eternal. Everything that is, always is.
There is a problem with my claim. It is my mind that is carving out things and their passing. If I say this moment, I’ve stepped outside of this moment. I’ve digitized eternity – turned it into time.
But I need some way to talk to you.
What if I say that the thing destruction is one with the thing creation?
… that birth and death are thereby one?
Have I seen love lying dead by the side of the road?
Did I try resurrection and could not do it?
I put dimes on her eyes and said, Well … that’s that.
Shiva in my driveway.
Jesus on the mainline.
The old yogis said that the steady overthrow and undoing is for my benefit. It is for my experience – to be either endured or to be seen. Seen clearly, my experience would be that of Sat, the experience of Is. Seen clearly, I could not speak of my experience. I want to talk to you about it; I want to call it something. So, I call it Love. Without direction. Without object. Without beginning or ending. Without name.