paintings 6
Something that is not there, but sees, remembers and makes decisions. "Something that sees" in Śunjata is not "someone who sees" because it has no individuality. It does not give meanings, it does not judge. It is not consciousness, it is not any variety of Self. It is without any quality, structure. It has nothing that can be grasped. "Something that sees" does not manifest in any way. There are no words to describe "something that sees." "Something that sees" does not manifest anything, is not anything that is present or absent. There is no such thing as "something that sees." Yet this something sees and remembers. And even makes decisions. What is the "something that makes the decision" to leave Śunjata? If there were no "something that makes the decision" to leave Shunyata, then the person experiencing Shunyata would never leave it again. However, the mind leaves Shunyata after a while. What is the "something that makes the decision" about the mind's exit from Shunyata?
What is the language of the Emptiness? There is no language in the Emptiness. The language of the Emptiness can be the language of talking about the Emptiness. What words would be in it: indefinite, elusive, indistinct, peculiar, unspecified, indeterminate, genderless, neuter, anonymous, nameless, unknown, undefined, unmarked.
My existence is the resistance that the ego puts up to the emptiness. My dog is a form of resistance. My breath is a form of resistance. Speech is a resistance. The sight of blood is resistance. It's building up in the veins of the ego. Like breasts too big, too heavy for wings.
Forced to identify - kilograms of flesh on the bone watch what my body is doing. Rotting meat in inflamed tissues - ego. A brief moment on the road from complexity to simplicity, as Murray Gell-Mann used to say. And then it's just what's outside. My existence is nothing important even when Shunyata smells of strawberries. Because then it's already only what's outside.
The nature of Śunjata is the same for everyone. There can be no subjectivity in experiencing it. It eludes all attempts at conceptualization. It cannot be imagined. Only the personal experience of her is shared by all. Her nature will appear to all in the same way. All who have experienced Śunjata will gain the same Knowledge. Their Knowledge will be beyond the schools they are associated with, beyond all divisions and types of Buddhism. Knowledge of Śunjata is unifying and unifying. The nature of Śunjata is always the same.
I found in myself, on the other side of the woman, the lack of ego of the man. It is the same emptiness. Mirror. In Śunjata I have already learned the nature of reality. Clouds heavy with tears . I am 29 years old and want to die already.
War. The hard tissue of one hundred and ninety-four homelands. It permeates me. When my belly is filled with one hundred and ninety-four national anthems. When my ego swells again. The four-dimensional system will be reborn. Complex matter will solidify in clumps. My HSV viruses will observe. It will only be a war.
I dissected a capital ovary from the lateral pelvic wall, near the iliac arteries. The right one. Seven grams of flesh. Eight grams of the left, communicating, with relief also. When you talk to me, meat on the bone, sound in an empty hall. Like Da Costa's band. When I finally close their space of procreation. Pelvic iliac artery deliveries.
To the brain I periodically implement endoprostheses. And the motherland. And mother and wife and the third one. I puked out imperatives versus compulsions, with all the anthropocentric inspirations. And into the vagina with the chronic fervor of a gynecologist. My brain has a stomach and hands. Lungs and heart. Idiopathic anxiety and cardiopulmonary disorders. Free of humanism.
Mandala of two kidneys. Is it still me if I subtracted desire from the liver? Motherhood from both kidneys? I dissected anthropocentrism from the eyeball? I stripped the receptors of higher feelings and all others? I tore the arteries of reason? So that not much remains. The body at my disposal.
I am forced to have sex and to hate. It's not me, it's my body secreting urine. I gained consciousness in something that has breasts and a vagina, and legs and arms. A body in which I am forced to love and consume. And it's basically the same as four paws or a pair of thin wings. I'm in or out. The meat on the bone I've been embedded in. Now that I am most busy breathing. I realized that the end is my right way.
Shunyata is a singularity. It is a place of discontinuity in the process of deepening the meditative state.
Occurring in the Śunjata, "visible without property" as an eyesight is a singularity, with no counterpart in conventional reality. In conventional reality, the mind sees objects together with their properties (form).In Śunjata reality (marked by glass tears), objects are devoid of properties (devoid of form). This deprivation of property, this "visible without property," is combined with a specific essentiality that forms the nature of Śunjata reality. This essentiality is indescribable.
Mandala of light. I took out the vagina so that you can finally experience. I made space from my intestines, between my lungs in the tunnels of my cervical vertebrae. Where the blinding ego does not allow me to love you. I can already penetrate the world where I am not.
I connected the neuronal wire to the right kidney slightly above fairness. I connected the liver with an aorta to a social justice level motley. I decorated the anthropocentrism with patriotic ejaculations. So that it was cool under the quilt, where the positive verification of gender - an empty quantum in cosmic hypothermia - matured. It is sovereign to have neither member nor vagina. It's sovereign to have both a member and a vagina. Depending on the state of mind.
I experienced that in the emptiness nothing is logical. But everything is in its place.
Born without her own consent. An individual in the herd. Tired of self-awareness. I extinguished feelings and identification. With a red ribbon I ligated my ovaries. I pulled out my hair and eyelashes. I replaced attachment to my son with breathing. And that further than yesterday I no longer want to remember.
Deprived of socially oriented neurons, I am moving in an antisocial direction. Plask! My thoughts are worth no more than flies. Plask! I have experienced that when the ego can no longer do anything it means it can still kill. Plask! Karen Horney on patients - neurosis poorly treated is the neurosis of the Universe.
What would it be - a civilization based on inner insights. My ego would then merge with your members in a place where the mob is not right. Economic egoisms, political egoisms, religious egoisms. Humanity in its own sauce tastes like pork. Everyday will already be easier. It is eaten, it is born, it is eaten, it is born, it is eaten, it is born, it is eaten.