I Am A Prism

Beware of those who claim, implicitly or explicitly, knowledge of the world or of what is beyond the world. They fool others and fool themselves. My word is not enough for it, simple logic will tell that no one can understand IT (the universe, being, the source, whatever one may call it). There is no lasting knowledge, no lasting insight, because what seems to be grasped, when one believes one is enlightened, is the ungraspable. Even this pure state of ever-fresh understanding can fall away, like all other things, and one falls back upon memory, which is as revealing as a corpse. I know myself to have been there, I have been on the high mountains of enlightenment, I kissed the divine and have known myself as pure love, nurturing the source within and without. But all this, however enriching, is elusive.

Awakening is knowing oneself as a blank page. But as a blank page one knows oneself as the recipient of existence, and there is no other path than to give in into its drama. The white page is filling with new stories and the stories seem to hide the page with their meaning. The self is lost again, and it wants to find its true and pure identity again. Those who believe to be the blank page know nothing of the real, those who are lost in meanings know nothing of the true. They don't, I don't, no one does. Do you really think it would be so easy? Come on Benjamin: do you really think you could have been the divine? Its cherished son?

Those who believe so fill the worlds with their noise, all prophets, teachers or masters, all these Benjamins I once was. They and their followers are aberrations, they have no choice, nor have I. Truly I am an unsolvable puzzle, I am life and death entwined. What escape is there from this?

Today as I stand, I am lost, I always was, but today I know I am. Some will think this statement, seemingly pessimist is an indicator that I do not know. Let them think so: let them seek answers that please them, let them find comfort in the belief of a Nirvana of eternal joy. 

Today as I stand, I am lost, I find myself on a schizophrenic path of choices without final substance. What choices are there? On what ground and what for? Who choses what is chosen? I could settle here and not play the game of choices. But would not that be a choice too? And why play dead? Yes, I am the suffering of my own existence and yes, I am the remedy. I am ignorance and I am knowledge. I am a prism and through myself I know I am.