No path. Immersion.

It isn't beginning or end. It's AND.

Do, 16th October 2025

No path. Immersion.

There is a saying by Thich Nhat Hanh - his podcast is named after it - “The way out is in.”
I’ve always understood it to mean turning towards one’s inside. Which is true.
But what I’ve realised too longer time ago is that if we keep it that linear way only, we lose touch with reality.
Reality is neither inside nor outside - or rather: these oppositions do not exist.
It’s how our mind functions, no more, no less.
But it’s not the whole story.
Which is: there is no story.

And -
there is no path either.

Now, in this time when it seems to us that nature - or much in nature - dies, it becomes more obvious.
In a time - for me - where life and death walk hand in hand (if we are honest, always), without destination or beginning, it is clear.
While I walk in a landscape where the greyish sky and mist mingle with the autumn colours of yellow, orange, red, even pink - accompanied by a springish green pointing at the hidden sun - my Dad sits at home, or once a day in the hospital, receiving an infusion, one drop after another, of an antibiotic entering his blood and circulation.
He holds on to the hope that it will be fine again.
While those drops are more like chemotherapy (this reserve antibiotic classifies as pre-terminal medicament) - destroying not only bacteria but also indirect the tissue of intestines, nerves, kidneys - most of us never come into contact with such a monstrous antibiotic when facing a normal bacterial infection.
It is not a healing, but a last attempt at buying time in the hospital world.

Yet his psyche does not break. Feeling quite ok.
Because he does not want to know.

For some time, I was angry with the doctors for leaving him a bit in the dark, I was even angry for fleeting moments that my Dad is so stubborn not wanting to realise the gravity of the situation - now I am grateful.
Just as I don’t know how fast the colourful world around me will shed its dress, I don’t know how long my father’s body can either handle the multi-resistant bacteria or the massive side and aftereffects of that antibiotic bomb.
And I don’t have to.

I don’t have to know - nor does he - because what we actually face is a continuous mystery, inside out.
A fragility and potency beyond our understanding.

We truly don’t know, all is true in parallel and control is an illusion.

I don’t have to know because in this trembling being, this being reduced to what actually matters- there is everything. Even all beings, like my horse, my old dog Lenny-in their formlessness- and all others, even those beings I never met. Are present.

I don’t have to know, because even a spiritual path - meant to understand more but often actually an attempt to escape being human, living, and facing all its contradictions - has become uninteresting.

I don’t have to know, because I lost my path long ago. Spirituality too.
I lost the fixed idea of time and linearity, beginning, end, mundane or sacred, one after the other, this or that - the or.

Instead, it is an AND.
An infinite AND.

There is every colour and grey and black and white.
There are all seasons within one.
There is joy and deep sorrow, fear and calm, tension and expansion.
Tiredness and determination.
Letting go and holding on.

Within all that - in every corner, every breath, every dying particle, every shade of colour, every texture, every step, every touch, whatever the eyes look at, whatever is smelled, wherever the mind wanders - in stillness, in noise, writing, walking, resting, texting, calling, playing with Ben, in pain, in joy, in sadness, in despair, in total uncertainty, unpredictability -

There is love.

Letting be.
All that.
Multilayered. Multidimensional. Multi-zoned.

It is held.
Penetrating into what is.
There is no spiritual path, no direction.
Nothing mere words or books can teach.

Just life.
Immersive.

And highly adaptible microorganisms like bacteria were there before us and will be there after us. If we like it or not.

And- sometimes the moon tenderly kisses shy daylight.

Going again, to be with my beloved ones.