Before I get to Shūnyam, I’m laying out a dozen or so old Posts to prepare the ground.
I had been around. And I had slid. From an amused bemusement, past simple bewilderment, beyond all sophisticated skepticism, to a lurching unquiet desperation.
Perhaps you are one of the blessed, one with an easy, resilient faith. You don’t see what all the fuss is about.
Scrape the surface and nothing makes sense. So I sit on the side and agree to pretend.
Cherished, coddled paradigms that are deeply conflicted are preserved precariously with strips and patches of facile assumptions, specious logic and authoritative bluster. The Gnostic has been replaced by the Graduate, a Learned Ignorance by an erudite cleverness.
You are finally ready to allow the possibility [and just the possibility] that most explanations are deflections, denials and exalted rationalizations.
That a pious insanity is afoot.
The modern equivalent of the mythic: ‘Disease, Old Age and Death’, the rousing that must precede every entry into the forest. A gentler sensibility than mine would have flagged the Buddhist ‘Suffering’ [Duḥkha] instead of a futile senselessness.