Sand and Pearls

Back to Nish.  Back to the meditation hut.  Good to see him – perhaps a new instruction would help.

No.

Discussed infinity – the Grand Hotel of Hilbert’s Paradox:  an infinite number of guests in an infinite number of rooms, and the hotel is full.

Liked the story, but wanted to go home.

Then back to the coal face of the Slippery Self and Nish’s voice again – who is seeing? – who is feeling?  Whip around, look!  but I’m too exhausted to look, to keep this up, but I do.  Look…then…

Nothing.

Everything melts away and there is grief, compassion, incredible grief, all gone, all everything, all nothing, nothing, nothing, compassion for everything that believes itself to be, for all the nothing.

Still.

A release.

A moment.  A release into nothing.  Nothing beyond nothing.

Indescribable.  A shift, like a POP.  Without sound or recognition, a silent POP.

Then.  Awareness of Nish’s voice and breathing; the Self is back, identifying, describing, making the moment into history.

The Self returns and I think.  So.  What.  Ah.

So easy.  Why couldn’t that happen before?  It was simple, and here it is.  What was all the fuss about?

And yet I know I could never have done it without precisely the instruction I had at precisely the time it was given.

And who is looking?  Who is noticing?  Who is afraid?  Who is grieving?  Noticing that the who is gecko-ing, trying to turn attention to the grief.  Trying to keep control; trying to avoid being the object of notice –

resisting arrest.

Then, POP – observer melts into observed.

Just like that.