Words Are Wind

When you arrive at the edge of language, the place where the gods live, your ability to accurately state the fundamental nature of anything dissolves into itself. Paragraphs become sentences become single words, a koan breaking through to its original face. Of course, it broke through (to) nothing. If you understand, the thousand sages are as one with you. 

‘Nothing.’ What is nothing? If it is nothing, why speak about it? It is the same with the state between thoughts – if you could tell what it is, it wouldn’t be whatever you said anymore. Schrodinger’s Cat has never died once, but you’ve run his death through your mind a thousand thousand times. 

The more you speak about it, the sillier you sound. ‘In the space between thoughts, there is a stillness that is active and moving, there is no distinction between yourself and others.’ If there is stillness, how does it move? If there is no you, how can you speak of others? 

Yet when you see sparks flash and lightening strike, you have seen it. How do I describe the edge of language to you? I stop talking.

Published by

Carter Ruff

"Meaning is entered into words as objects in the dark are revealed by a lamp."

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