NO MORE WORDS

Surrendering the intellectual


The problem with being intellectual is that thinking. As I typed this I paused to refer to my notes, ending the sentence at THAT thinking...how apt. The problem with being intellectual is that thing called thinking. Thinking too easily becomes a habit. Like a creeper weed, before you know it, you are living in your thoughts, everything and yourself defined by your statements or others’, this creeper of intelligence a wall of protection suffocating your true identity and real experience. This wall of protection a projected identity of intelligence, a safe haven or cave of words.

Underneath this tough exterior, underneath the words defensively defining you as intelligent, as all-knowing is a far superior intelligent and all-knowing entity, your heart!

Living with fewer words – oh the silence is huge. It’s a rejection.

The word-addict has intravenously fed the words into every cell of existence, every moment to the worders’ body and anyone nearby who had to listen or chose to listen. This currency of words overvalued and devaluing the heart, though words will say, 'my heart is open'. How deep those words really go can only be measured by a really quiet mind.

It’s the labels, the definitions, the projections of intelligence that become a backpack of bricks we carry around and have to protect. The interesting thing is that the intellectual will defend this projection as not a protection at all but rather himself/herself, his/her right to intelligence. what a waste of energy.

Feel a moment without words.

“I think therefore I am not!” Wordless, I Am.

In debating the source of the original quote “I think therefore I am”, the intellectual will ironically focus on who owned the words rather than realising that this very attachment has created a diversion from the point. “I think therefore I am not”. I own words and ensure others can own theirs too as if there is a value to them, yet we can throw words around like confetti, fool's gold.

We need words for some basic living needs. The rest is all escape, mind junk.

Mind junk.

I stopped recently to notice someone. He was talking. The words he was using were interesting, but far more interesting, is what he was not saying. I listened to myself, the words I chose - to facilitate some end...protect, defend, assert, hide. I am the biggest victim of the word disease.

Mind junk.

Peace. From myself. From you. From words. From my reliance on them, my addiction to them, the noise they create, the entertainment, the obligation to hear if not listen, the distraction.

I opt for words as protection against intimacy. I notice in others the same, and their body language closes the shoulders in front of the chest, the head is projected forward, the mouth is always moving, asserting ‘life’ or that they think they have life by speaking.

I opt for words because I don’t know how to be any different. I’ve already asked, ‘Who am I if I am not thinking?’

I opt for words because I feel it’s important for you to know me, but really it’s because I am trying to know myself.

I opt for words because they taste good in my mouth.

I opt for words because they dress you and me in the colours of my choice.

I opt for words because essentially I am Stupid. If I wasn’t stupid I would know better and meet you at your heart. But I know too that you are also afraid, and so I choose words to protect us both.

I opt for words because in the silence I might feel lonely or scared even though you are sitting with me.

I opt for words because that way I can be in control. Even if what I am saying makes no sense, at least I am in control of that moment because I own it with words, and I own you while you listen.

I opt for words because they seem like a paint brush colouring in an experience, but really they are the eraser!

Mind junk.

Versus Silence.

I opt for words because I don’t know what to do with the silence when I am with you. When I am alone, silence is a warm embrace, a huge sound that engulfs me and hugs me, but with you, silence hurts.

I opt for words, because the greatest intimacy is not sexual but stillness, stillness that you hold with me in the moments where we touch but no one is touching, and no one is moving.

Silence sitting next to someone is a knife that cuts away the personality, and bares you naked and vulnerable.

In silence, I am undressed...