Candice

www.greatfreedom.org

--Satsang with groups and private meetings

--Location: Marin County, California

Contact: codenver@earthlink.net

These words have no specific uses at all. Their Substratum of That is the glory

where they cease to exist.

Truth speaks Its languor of the image-repertoire, of the Love Letter of all that never arose. It is the whole of Truth’s discourse that is woven of languorous release, of declarations and eruptions of an end That consumes everything that never was back into Itself—That subsumes Itself into Itself. Truth utters this discourse and shapes its episodes and makes Satsang of them. Truth neither repeats or contradicts Itself, nor takes the part for the What Is whole-less. Truth is the exclamation of what passes within It as a trace, a mark without code or history. 

Whatever seemingly arises is the vanishing non-event of all that Truth must not say about Itself. The site and compartment of Truth’s volume-less Heart is reserved for Its uncountable Lovers.

Truth cannot be gathered up into a topic. Its property is empty. Truth’s expression is a modest supplement offered to Its never-never land of neither the freedom nor the bondage of textual concern. What Is cannot be added to, subtracted from, or passed on. Its Play is without the desperation of relationship, difference and meaning.

That Which Is That is always and already the gathering in, the taking over of all exposition, account, summary, plot outline, or signed non-narrative about Itself.

Meeting Truth is a kind of opera aria; just as this aria is identified, memorized, and manipulated as an incipit, so Truth’s sign of nothing takes its departure in the turn of a phrase, a kind of verse, refrain, or liturgical chant which is a brief gush of Its dazzling darkness.

top of page