All is as it is

All, the word all, is not all. It’s only a word. But all is as it is—never the same, never away from itself. It is as it is. You do not know. You question endlessly—the question of all—which is beyond the word all,beyond a question that expects an answer.

Its no answer can capture the movement of all. So you don’t wait for it—not even secretly within yourself. All is as it is. This is the question. You don’t initiate the question; it’s a fact. You can question it, and in the sense, look into it through the question. You can become the question. You can burn in the infinite openness and curiosity to that question. All is as it is—all the time. Never the same. All is always new. It is always now.

And you question that, not from a distance—you are that question, in a very, very exposed way. You cover that question with the need to know, with desire for wisdom, and so on. But in truth—and you can see it in extreme moments of honesty, which are very rare—nevertheless, you meet them, those moments. And in those moments, you can give full heart to the question.

All is as it is. Thoughts cannot penetrate that question. So there is no judgment, there is no philosophy, there is no measure. The question doesn’t give you anything. It’s empty. Yet the rain of truth from meeting that question—not playing with it—all is as it is. Now and forever, without knowing.

That question makes even the most profound verbal expression look like a fountain of futility. There is no value in the mark of words when the question is asked. The question: all is as it is.