Emptiness

 Their is no time, there is no space. Not as we see them. There are no people, not as we see them. There is no self, not as we see it. No life, no death, no birth, not as we see them. What we see is often not as it is. What is is often not what we see. Isn't all of this struggle, all of this thinking about being? About who we think we are and how we think life is? We are trying to understand what is going on. We think there is something going on. What if we are wrong? What if this is confusion, assumption? What if who we think we are does not exist? Does not exist and never has, never will. What if everything we aim to do is for nothing? What if life truly is meaningless? Because it doesn't exist as we think it does. I say meaningless, I do not say this despairingly. Not as a nihilist, not from a place of spiritlessness. Not in a way that hurts the heart. It could not, because the heart as we know it does not exist. Everything we imagine is a fiction. Everything see is not real. We do not look at reality. We cannot because their is no reality. No such thing. We cannot see outside our thinking minds. It is impossible for us to do so because who we are is our thinking minds. They cannot look outside of themselves. They only exist within themselves, within the thinking mind. I am not dispirited because there is no spirit. I do not have a spirit to lose. The world as we know it does not exist. We aspire for fulfillment thinking it can be attained. There is no self to be fulfilled. There is no fulfillment. There is no way. There is no path. What ridiculous notions. We think that we are. What if we aren't? What if all of this is completely meaningless? Impossible to be contrived because what is contrived requires someone to contrive it. We are so eager to find ourselves? Why? Do we really want to perpetuate our suffering? Do we really want to perpetuate the nightmare of this dream? The thing is, we don't have a choice because we never existed in the first place. There was never us. Never me. Never this. There is no place we will be. What we imagine we will become cannot be because we image that it is us who this is happening to. Which is impossible to happen to us. Us does not exist. Everything is entirely pointless. It is pointless because it cannot have a point. Points do not exist. Points are ideas. Ideas are not real. Any kind of achievement is not real. Anything that bolsters the self is not real. We is so attached to life and maintaining life, preventing falling from life. We thinks this is the way. If there was no struggle, would there be a way? If there was no suffering would we exist? If it is possible for suffering to end, then is it also possible for the self to end? What would there be if we were not afraid of death? If we were not afraid of struggling, of suffering? What would become of ourselves if we let them go? If they died because they were no longer needed? Who or what would we be? Would we be anything at all? Would we exist at all? If we didn't need to fight for life, fight to perpetuate our avoidance of death, what would become of us? It seems to me that everything we are, everything we is, is based upon a pillar of fear and avoidance. What happens when you leap from the pillar, abandoning it and what it upholds entirely? What happens if you let go of your self? You do not know because you have not done it. What happens if you let go of your life? What happens if you let go of control? Not in recklessness, not in brashness. But in death. What if you die to who you think you are? Completely. What remains? What remains when all that is half truth is washed away? What remains? You do not need to die to who you think you are, because who you think you are never existed in the first place. You are already dead. And you can't be dead, because you were never alive.