After the collapse
Thoughts on the end of seeking, the collapse of spiritual stories, and what remains when the search stops. These aren't teachings or methods. Just impressions of what happens when the seeker dies and life continues anyway.
Watcher
There used to be a kind of spirit running through everything. A thread. A hum of presence I called me. Even suffering had a kind of richness to it—like I was growing, transforming, on a path. Everything was mine. Mine to endure, mine to savor.
End of the promise
The structure is always the same:
A lack now.
A solution later.
A seeker here.
An arrival elsewhere.
No Way Out
The dream doesn’t resolve.
It doesn’t become truth.
It collapses.
And when it does, there is no revelation.
No arrival.
No presence to confirm what remains.