O. is going
to the well, absorbed in thought, fluctuating
thought and non-thought. He had sat
cross-legged in the meditation hall all of
yesterday, all last night. Then he finds
himself going to the well. The wooden bucket.
He had
meditated on the first thought-instant at
birth until it became transparent. He moved
to the other side and turned and saw its
transparent back. But it could not be a wall
with a back, so it disappeared. He carries
this disappearance to the well, similar in
heft to the wooden bucket.
In that it
has disappeared, it cannot be carried; in
that it is without dimension, how can he feel
he carries it? But it is with him::::how the
bucket is in his hand but he is not truly
aware of it being there::::being there empty,
and his body and mind so absorbed nothing is
felt, nothing experienced, except going to
the well.
So the first
thought-instant at birth is an empty wooden
bucket, not felt, but being carried. 'Am I
going to the well?'
He finds and
enters the memories leading up to going to
the well: He was sitting, though wholly numb,
floating, he felt himself sitting. It
occurred to him that he was sitting. He was
in the meditation hall. Sight returned. He
blinked::::and the blink created a
moment::::as if beginning time, re-beginning
time. Was it dust? And it became clear that
he would go to the well. He cannot remember
taking up the wooden bucket outside the
portal [+]. He marks its weight
now, to make sure he has brought it with.
Suddenly he
is at the well. He senses he is here. His
eyes itch, and he blinks. He begins lifting
the bucket then becomes aware of something,
of a presence, a person::::he realizes the
master is standing there beside the well,
gazing at him.
He bows.
"Who are you?" [+]
"I am O."
"You are not O."
"Who am I, then?" [+]
"Let us begin by finding out what you
are doing."
"I am at the well."
"So?"
"I... I am seeking truth." [+]
"There is no truth. You are a blathering
child."
"I seek after my true nature."
"How is that?::::Your only possession is
an empty wooden bucket!"
"Yes, I have an empty wooden
bucket!"
"What is in it?"
"Nothing."
"And so I ask you again, who are
you?"
"Nothing." [+]
He is at the
well. Nothing is always there, on its way to
the well. Better that, than the space
occupied by some O. traveling through nothing
going to the well.
Nothing is
always already here, and not here [+].
He blinks.
And in his blink all memories collide. Time
is set once again in motion. It is morning!
Pale light. Birds are singing outside!