REALISING THERE IS NO ME
“There is no me”.
Easy words to memorise, repeat, lecture and argue about. But what are the real implications of this realisation?
In realising that there is no separate person here at all, that who I really am is the vast, open, infinitely spacious, non-located capacity for every thought, sensation, feeling, sound, even pain, and that what I am is inseparable from this moment…
… well then, everything is seen to be deeply embraced, held, admitted here, deeply allowed into what I am. There is no ‘inbetween’ anymore, and never was. There is no self-image to defend (not even the image ‘there’s nobody here’ or ‘awakening has happened to no-one’), no way of blocking life out, total openness to what is, cosmic humility and awe in the face of this moment.
This is not a prescription or achievement or goal for a separate self, but a description of who you ALREADY ARE beyond the story.
Words will never capture this, but words are allowed here too.
And a deep sense of love and wordless compassion – beyond all our second-hand ideas of love and compassion – emanates directly from this realisation, for one simply cannot block ‘you’ out anymore, or pretend that I am fundamentally different from you in any way. Then there’s no distance, no gap, just intimacy – which is the end of conflict.
It’s not a rejection of our humanity and our humanness (rejection comes from a deep misunderstanding of the nondual message) but a total embrace of it on every level.
Otherwise “there is no me” remains just an idea, another story, a belief, a nondual soundbite, more dogma, something to cling to, to argue over; something that comforts the ‘me’, that bloats the self-image, instead of rendering it irrelevant.
Yes, “there is no me” is a beautiful idea, a lovely pointer, a wonderful philosophy, but is this transparency, this openness, this humility, actually being realised now? Intellectual understanding is beautiful, but doesn’t in itself end seeking and suffering – in fact, it may even inflame suffering.
Realisation is key.
Well, that’s the gorgeous paradox of this.
Well, who asks?