What You Are (After You Disappear) by Jan Frazier

With Jan’s consent I re-blog this from her website.

What You Are (After You Disappear)

The sense of self dissolves, and how is it that what’s left is radical cherishing?  The cherishing is of all that is, and all-that-is has turned out to be what “you” actually are.  So you are in the skin of the beloved, occupying the space defined by the presence of the beloved.  Everywhere you go, everywhere you look, it is there.

Cherishing doesn’t amount to a desperate effort to hold on to.  Whatever happens is just what happens.

This has been enabled by a disappearing act.  You (who you thought you were) have become see-through.  The muscles have untwisted; the grudges can’t hold together any longer.  The air moves right through you.

At night, I’m out there in the cold, black, still world with the old dog, who is melting a yellow pool of snow, and my eyes are drawn up.  Oh, hi!  Like I’d almost forgotten.  The greeting to the firmament doesn’t feel like it’s reaching across vast distance.  The stars seem to be saying hello to one another.

The strangeness is that although the cherishing has heat and vitality to it (being experienced in a living body), because there is no sense of a particular location or form of what is being cherished, it doesn’t matter if dying occurs, or damage, or pain.

In ordinary commerce, if something is cherished, it’s considered valuable.  It’s cared for, protected.  The attachment is ferocious.  But here, it’s of no consequence if a piece of it goes away, because it’s everywhere, always.

Because a human being has a mind, and is able to be self-reflective, we wonder at this odd coincidence of things.  There is this cherishing going on — you could say, this self-cherishing — yet the prospect of demise is not distressing.  Cherishing doesn’t amount to a desperate effort to hold on to.  Whatever happens is just what happens.

There is no more idea of that thing known as “my life.”  All there is is this, this that’s happening now.  It’s all we ever know of life, of ourselves.  Directly know, I mean.  Feel, see, taste.  All the rest — what constitutes “my life” — requires reference to the contents of the mind.  It isn’t real.  It’s a garbage can.  Refuse, leftovers, anticipations.  Stories.  Oh, so many stories.

When subject and object lose their boundaries, when it’s all one thing, one moment, that’s life.  And you are nowhere in it — not the you with stories and beliefs and fears — but the whole thing is what “you” sense yourself to be.  It’s all you know of life.  Of course there is cherishing.  Of course it is beloved.  Even if it involves nausea and overdue bills.  The whole measuring thing, the good versus the bad, has ceased to function.  It doesn’t occur to you to like or dislike.  To like or dislike, it’s necessary to first imagine that things could be other than they are, or to remember how they were before.  It’s necessary to experience self as separate from what-is.  That function has been turned off.  The mind is full of space.  The reference points are gone.

AND:  Nobody who read my last “leaving home”-story seems to have understood who the 2 figures were..(nobody of those who gave feedback, that is) which made the story meaningless 🙂 so if you go back and read it again with the information that this was Lucifer’s last day home, it will be more meaningful:)

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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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