Why is it so hard to move out of the way in order to experience existence as the fountain of nowness? Is finding a way to escape from the constant flow of ideas the way? Must I give up the clankings of language for periods of time?
Is language my wonderful cage?
As I bump and grind along in the busyness of living?
Does the being wait to be sought out?
Or is waiting an issue for it?
Is the being my timeless part
because it’s always in the moment?
Am I a joint project which starts automatically
and the universe finishes sooner or later?
What is awareness? Is it a door out of myself or a door into myself or a door that does away with me the identity? Should talking and thinking about anything that messes with me be an awful, evil plot?