The vastness annihilates me. It literally destroys me. Walking through these empty streets, the vastness is there, consuming everything, every thought, every sensation. And yet the vastness is not separate from everything that is arising: the glow of the streetlamps, the shadows of lovers walking arm-in-arm, the rumble of night buses, the sound of footsteps on the cold pavement. And once again the secret that is so utterly obvious reveals itself: I am nowhere to be found, and I am everywhere. I am nothing, and yet I am one with all things, because there are not really any separate "things" at all.
Now, thought is silent, and yet the miracle reveals itself, all around. There is nowhere that the miracle is not. The miracle is this, this and this too. Not the idea of it, but the obvious and undeniable present actuality. Who could deny these present sights, sounds, smells? Who would ever want to?
I am annihilated in this, I am dwarfed by the vastness, I am made totally insignificant by the smallest detail: the little cracks in the pavement, the flicker of a streetlamp, a dog barking, the trees rustling in the evening breeze. Every little thing puts an end to me.
The eyes dart about, and with each movement of the eyeballs there is a new world, an undiscovered country. Nothing is the same from one moment to the next, which is to say there are no "moments" at all. Only this, only the utterly obvious revealing itself now, now and now.
And thought is not there: thought comes afterwards, thought is always an interpretation in hindsight, a useless addition, after-the-fact. Thought is dead - this is alive. Thought is of the past - this is so clearly present. This obliterates the past, this destroys it totally. How useless the past is! How useless are those little stories, the ones about "me and my life"! They too are annihilated with every footstep, with every breath. Every moment new, every moment fresh, every moment a revelation, a miracle beyond all words.
And so, I walk alone, homeless, faceless, hopeless, without a past, without a future, without beliefs. And yet these things may arise, and that is fine. These things may arise, and if they do, who cares? Really, who gives a shit? Whatever arises, arises. Whatever happens, happens. And we only suffer to the extent that we don't want what happens to happen.
But beyond all ideas of suffering, beyond all thought, beyond any idea of “liberation” or “enlightenment” or “awakening”, beyond all beyonds, those streetlights are flickering, and the wind is picking up, and there is hunger, and the body moves towards the bus stop, and presumably it's time to go home.
Consumed by the vastness, there is no longer anything to do, nowhere to go, no possibility of anything whatsoever. There is only this, as there always has been. Nothing has changed and everything has changed, but even that is saying too much. Nothing can be known about this. Nothing can really be said, although the words come again. And that's wonderful. Wonderful because it can't possibly be any other way.
Tonight the silence consumed me, and the silence was everything, but in the silence a world arose, and yes, it was an apparent world, but what an apparent world it was! An apparent world, apparent to no-one.
Although, in the story, I have walked through the city a hundred times before, this night was the first night I had ever walked through the city, no doubt about it. Tonight, the city was new, it was truly an undiscovered country. Nothing was known about it. Nothing. And so it wasn't really a "city" at all, not at all. It was everything. It was the universe in its fullness. And it was nothing. A vast emptiness, an empty vastness. And I was fully annihilated by the vastness, and fully present too. And there was no contradiction, none whatsoever. Contradictions arise only for a mind seeking something.
But there is no mind, and no search.
Only this, extraordinary this, undeniable this ....
.... and nothing more.
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