Sometimes I want to say something. To write an essay. To delight in written expression.
I start writing.
I type “The challenges of saying anything.” Then stare at the computer for two minutes. So much bubbles up inside! Yet every sentence that rises to the surface erases itself. All that remains is silence.
How to explain this, even to myself?
It feels like nothing is “true”. Any sentence refuses to shine with integrity. (Yet every gleaming fragment is true; every sentence dances with its own imperfect perfect integrity. You see what I mean? It’s impossible to speak.)
To add more seeming indignity, here’s how it goes these days. A sentence rises to the surface. It is absorbed, breathed, allowed by the Absolute. But the sentence isn’t in control. It has no idea if it will ever sparkle in the light of day. It waits. The silence waits. And either it will appear or it won’t. No one has any idea, any control, any surety.
A friend wrote an amazing blog recently. So many thoughts arose to greet, to meet, to honor it! Thoughts bubbled to the surface of consciousness. And then…instead of arising to fixate the world, to explain, to create…they simply continued to bubble and burst, bubble and burst. No way existed to add anything, to subtract anything, to interact.
One may think by reading this that I’m silent and withdrawn. Not the case! Words arise, unbidden, and speak themselves daily, hourly, sometimes by the minute. I’ve felt and experienced so much intimacy with friends over the last few months. There are no challenges to expression in this intimacy. One witnesses sentences arising–true, false, who cares–and it’s a fluid flowing river of water and rocks and wildflowers and snow, all jumbled together, all separate, all engaged and alive. Every fragment shines with integrity and then dissolves, the wink of Buddha in its eye.
Impossible not to share.
Yet something seems to keep asking, “Is it true? Is it true?” and I realize that everything I once took as so solid and true and absolute is not.
When thoughts arise and they’re seen as untrue, it’s sometimes possible to witness the larger truth which effortlessly and compassionately encompasses both expression and silence. Which is the truer truth at this moment? And how would that truer truth express itself?
That’s the question that engages my heart this New Year. How does the truer truth express itself in the now? And the only answer seems to arise in the living of it. And to embrace any not-knowing that arises. Not knowing if one shall blog, speak, sing, visit New York City, finish this cup of coffee. To allow that not-knowing to possibly release its terror-filled grip, to relax, to live in the truer truth that never knows and never not knows. To live that which rises as a whole, without duality, singing itself awake.