I tried to write a note to you today but when I was about to send it, I thought of all the synapses that would fire in your brain and cause you to respond in the way that you would, because you think the things that you naturally do.
And I wondered in that moment, how many people I have loved had wanted to write to me but couldn’t because they knew the same …
… that some strange volition within me would take the purity of their words and feed an ego that just couldn’t know better at that time.
I wanted to tell you so many details. Things that would get lost on the way to your deeper wisdom. I have tried this before. I know. They will.
So now I will send you nothing at all–something more pure than the ego can touch. Something so subtle it overwhelms the world. Something that will never be said but somehow be known until the moment before we die or almost do–what is real, what is true.
There is no me. And there is no you.