Of Headless Writing

Of headless writing: 

it's that words appear, and somehow completely on their own, gifted in a very true way. My role is easy, simply waiting, typing out phrases that arrive, trusting that they will. It seems they always do. This is the way of headless writing, of first seeing how my own nature matches to the page, empty, and yet with a promise of fulfillment, a willingness to be of service for whatever now appears. It's capacity in a seamless trade of spaciousness for form, one thing really, only seen in the duality of its expression. 

nothing special has to take place for this to happen, for me it's an early greeting in the mirror, each morning noting that my first appearance shows up opposite of where I take myself to be. This is the image I will wear for the day, a routine of social convenience. But I'm always aware that I wake up headless, and remain this way throughout the day. This isn't a mental trick I play, it's not a ritual to prepare myself to write, nor a meditation of any sort. It's simply noticing, and quite literally so, that I am headless, my own view reveals only form until it reaches a search for my head. Of first note is it's absence, that indeed I've never seen, and can't see now, my own face, that's a privilege given to the world, and one in which I return the favor. That reflection in the mirror each morning is my revelation that this is so, it's my first glimpse of the social form I hold, and reminds me that to be headless is to be in service of appearance, everything in the world will unfold right here, through my own aware capacity. 

there is nowhere else I could possibly be, always here, now. 

and it's exactly where I greet the world.

there are many traditions that place an emphasis on noticing emptiness, pointing to the obviousness of things appearing and yet remaining formless still. The famous line of Heart Sutra wisdom comes immediately to mind, that emptiness is form/form is emptiness, and that this happens at once, not so much a trade between two, but the reality of just one. The philosopher Douglas Harding had this revelation as well, taking it a bit more personal, finding that his own form ended exactly where his head supposedly existed. It was a direct transmission of emptiness, and also so much more. What Harding discovered, as many mystics had before, was emptiness as our source of immediacy, being of service to our appearance now, and of every moment that's to follow. Emptiness is indeed form, seamless, and that the world unfolds from here, an easy flow of our fulfillment. Harding found his own headless nature, and kept exploring, noting how in the place of his head's disappearance, the world remained, that emptiness existed as aware capacity for it's own arrival as form, never wavering, always at once and available to be noticed. 

and that brings me to this moment, of headless writing, how words suddenly appear from nowhere, an easy grace of meaning given to the page. There's an author present, of course, and yet he's no different than the page, not really, both are simply in service to whatever appears, words, ideas, sudden inspiration. Neither emptiness nor words can be denied, existing at once within the page, seamless, equal to the view. Each morning the mirror reveals me as a page, empty, aware and immediately inspired to be filled. 

~

Peace, Eric