What is What is?
All there is is what is . . . but what is what is?
Well, there is no real answer to that question. However, it seems that what is could be just what is happening . . . reading these words, sitting on a seat, trees growing, sounds, feelings, clouds or thoughts passing by and so on. In simple terms these events just seem to be what is happening. But the perspective here is that the essence of what is happening is an open secret.
It is suggested that what is is oneness appearing as twoness, the absolute being relative. It is the treasure that is longed for and feared most . . . the perfect lover and the grim reaper. It is of course the ultimate paradox, being simultaneously nothing and everything.
There is no possibility of the essence of what is being described, grasped or known.
The seeker attempts to be aware of or conscious of what is and immediately that function separates and objectifies and makes solid that which is wonderfully floating, effervescent and ungraspable.
The essence of what is can’t be seen by me and so me never feels fulfilled because its experiences seem to have something missing.
In what is is also what isn’t. This is the wonder of wholeness because it appears as both simultaneously. Everything that is something is also already nothing . . . there are not two! Everything is therefore real and unreal, but me experiences everything as only real. Within this illusion me attempts to transform this dualistic and unsatisfactory experience into processes such as “living in the moment” or “being here now” or accepting everything as “consciousness”.
However, and again, the wonderful paradox of the play of wholeness is that the story of me is also what is. All of the dreams and hopes, processes and religious aspirations are only wholeness appearing as a separate entity rushing around looking for itself and also hiding from itself by already being everything.
And in being everything, even the avoidance or rejection of what is is what is.
So what is longed for constantly sings the only song of freedom that can never be lost or found because it is already all there is.
Painting of Tony Parsons by Fred Schley