Recently people have complained that some weeks I sound like student A, then student B, and wonder where Ed’s central thread went. They ask, “Where is the Jnana, or what happened to the lover?”
I can only say I am much moved and influenced by conversations of those who I am close to and who are burning. Their burning catches me on fire and I write from my heart whatever comes up. Each of my “lovers” is in a different place. One is shedding concepts and conditioning, another is learning to love herself, another has gone entirely beyond the world into the Absolute, and yet another is lost in unending bliss, a rapture from which her body is forgotten. Another begins to burn brightly in the Rocky Mountains, another is half a world away who always feels my presence.
When they talk to me, I am blown away.
I used to see this with Muktananda. When someone came to him and spoke with clarity and passion, it was as if he blew in the wind, he bent and surrendered to their shakti, and this juice then became his truth of the moment. Teacher and student were equal, and he was like clay bent and wriggled into a new form for a moment. Then moments later someone new came, and if they came with passion, energy, he was transformed again.
Such happens to me. People come to me and when they burn I see their truth. I feel their truth. One is becoming a new Krishnamurti, another is becoming Kali, another becomes Krishna, and there is room in me for each for that moment.
Then I write, and when I write, I express their truth as it unfolds and it appears my central thread is lost. There process and truth inspire me. There expressed truth will be of some help to someone, somewhere.
But the truth is, I have no central thread. I have no truth. I am there for them, not for me. I feel like I take on the clothes of whomever I talk to at the moment. Those I talk to most, those are the clothes I wear at the time.
Of course in the center is the untouched, the origin of the manifest world. All the rest is mind including all the writing that spill from these fingers. And a few are always with me, inside me, sharing my emptiness, sharing our mutual purpose in the world. Above all is Robert and Nisargadatta smiling downwards.