The binary is self-reflection of unity, which is the essence of zero. This triangle is itself unity. The triangle reproduces itself to infinity. Karma is the triangle. Nirvana and samsara are the binary. The transdual is the unity. Zero is the unutterable mystery of reality itself. O, you triangle of force, realize yourself as the sum of the unity of the transdual and the dual. Non-realization is the skillful means by which the zero realizes itself in the non-zero. Attachment is the illusory byproduct of that skillful means. By Non-attachment and mindfulness the triangle realizes its identity with the zero. By desire and embodiment the zero realizes its identity with the triangle. The union of the zero and the triangle is the essential mystery of becoming, but the essence of being cannot be destroyed. Mind itself is the essence of being.
A granite stone cube half buried in a sandy beach towers against the plain expanse of blue sky. Or is it merely infinitesimal in a world of stars? Perspective blushes the imagination. The universe crushes all experiences to sand, even a granite stone cube or a “I.” We capitalize the term, we speak of “an I.” I ruminate upon a granite stone cube, infinitesimal in a world of stars, being crushed to sand, and I understand, perceiving meaning in an arbitrary act that beggars the imagination against the plain expanse of blue sky. What artifice is this ant tracing, of what origin and for what posterity? Being answers naught. The mystic knows naught. The mystic seeks in some vain yet vital cave of the heart the answer to the riddle that he himself poses, constructing spider’s webs of language, himself the spider and the prey. He sucks himself dry in his chimerical pursuits, only to discover the ashes of nothingness, his webs traceries of charcoal. But he who neither knows nor speaks dwells in the perfect emptiness of mind that is bliss. That bliss is present, even now. It is the presence of sentience, the vacuity of being, the being of mind, the mind of bliss; sentience, devoid of self or thought, being purely present to itself/being in perfect simplicity of being itself.
The infinity of samsara is the ultimate mystery, and it is embodied in Tara. Just as the male yields to the female, so does nirvana yield to samsara, who also yields. This is the yab yum, the Ineffable Mystery. It permeates all beings, and is the being of being itself. It is the self that is not-self. It is the being that is not-being. It is the mindfulness of sentience itself, neither with nor without particularity. It is present even now as the essence of enlightenment. (This was written and spoken with realization.)