Being · Stop

In your moment when speech is cut off, and the great tremor reveals itself in silence

Scripture

Being is not the name of being; being is the fact itself.

Being proves itself being; being kisses itself being.

Being, being, being, being. Is, is, is, is.

No non-being, no being; being…

Being.

Wenzi · On Being

You have read this far. Close the book now.

Not an ending, but a beginning.

Let the pages cover the words, let your fingers leave the cover. Just sit like this, do nothing, think nothing.

Wait. Not waiting for a feeling, not waiting for a realization. Just… waiting. Until you feel that even the act of waiting has slowly dissolved, like a lump of sugar in water.

Only… being remains. In this very blankness where even waiting has vanished, a soundless sound resounds from the bottom of your existence:

“Being is not the name of being; being is the fact itself.” “Being” is not this book’s name, not any “concept” you can speak or think (being is not the name of being).

“Being” is the very fact you are living right now—breathing, perceiving, existing—the fact itself (being is the fact itself). Every word is superfluous. You are that fact.

Now, sink deeper into this fact.

Do not try to describe it—become it.

Let your consciousness, like a drop of ink, fall back into its original ocean.

“Being proves itself being; being kisses itself being.”

Existence is proving existence with its own existence (being proves itself being). Just as light needs no second light to illuminate itself, existence is merging and kissing with itself completely, without gap (being kisses itself being). No distance, no seam. You are that very fullness—self-proving and self-embracing.

All dualities collapse at this instant.

“Being, being, being, being. Is, is, is, is.”

Being, being, being, being. Is, is, is, is. Words lose their boundaries, become pure vibration of syllables, become the pulse of existence itself. You are not reading these characters—with your life you are breathing in and out the rhythm of these characters.

At last, even this rhythm falls still.

“No non-being, no being; being…”

There is no “non-being,” and no “being” (no non-being, no being). Because “being” already contains every possibility of “non-being.” Here the whole game of concepts comes to an end.

Only…

a deep, long breath that can never be completed.

Being.

At this moment this character is no longer printed on paper.

It is the one mark your whole life carves upon the coordinates of time and space.

You do not need to understand it.

You are already it.

From now on, wherever you go, whatever you go through,

you know:

you were never born, and you never die.

You simply… are.

And this being is the deepest and quietest greeting you bring to this world.

Being-Being is not the last page of the book.

It is the boundless first page of life, rushing toward you the moment the book is closed.

If you are at peace because of this book,

that peace is not true.

If you are strong because of this book,

that strength will surely shatter.

If this book makes you different from others,

you have fallen into deep attachment.

Being does not make you special.

Being only makes specialness disappear.

If you begin to teach,

pause for a moment.

If you begin to judge whether others are “in being” or not,

you are already far away.

If you begin to construct an understanding,

look once again:

who is constructing it?

The moment you see this question,

pause.

There is no need to answer.

To answer is already to deviate.

You need only see:

the one that knows it is looking

is still here.

Nothing more need be said here.

To say more is to err.

You are still reading.

You may stop now.

If you ask what this book is for, that is already one question too many.

Being does not wait to be used.

But since you have turned the pages this far,

it shows you still want to hold on to something.

Then a few more words.

Once heard, forgotten.

When it is chaotic, no need to fix it.

The chaos is being.

You need only recognize it, not change it.

When it hurts, no need to run.

Pain is being at its brightest point.

Dare to be, and the pain dissolves of itself.

When afraid, no need to resist.

Fear is being contracting.

Stay still, and the fear disperses of itself.

When a thought arises, no need to follow.

The thought is being.

Chase after the thought, and you depart.

When thinking weighs heavy, no need to untangle it.

The more you untangle, the farther you drift.

Rest a while—being is right there.

When empty, no need to fill.

Emptiness is not lack.

Emptiness is being not yet formed.

When lost, no need to rush to wake.

Lostness is being not yet knowing itself.

Recognize the lostness, and you are half awake.

If you ask how to be—the asking itself is departure.

Rest, and being is there.

If you ask: who am I? Who is asking?

One look, and it dissolves.

If you go looking for “original being,”

it has already become two.

Your being here is it.

If you seek “stability,”

the waves have already risen.

Being needs no stabilizing.

If you fear losing it,

the loss too is being.

It was never lost.

If you seek wholeness,

the seeking is the lack.

Without seeking, it is whole.

If you cling to “I am,”

it has become a shell.

Being does not belong to you.

If you say “I understand,”

you have not yet understood.

Being cannot be understood.

If you use this book,

you are already using it wrong.

Being is not used.

If you wish to teach,

you have already deviated.

Being cannot be transmitted.

If you erect a system,

it becomes a wall.

Being does not become a law.

If you collapse,

the collapse is being.

In being, nothing is ruined.

If you walk to the very end,

and no road is left,

that is the door.

If you lose everything,

one being still remains.

This being cannot be lost.

If you are wholly helpless,

then only look at this instant:

awareness is still here.

No need to keep it.

No need to prolong it.

No need to remember it.

Being depends on no practice,

no realization,

no adding or subtracting of days.

It does not increase,

nor decrease.

It does not come,

it does not go.

You cannot approach it,

because you have never been far away.