Pardon the Joycean melange. The sort of dream-like melding of three words: thoughts, knots, and naught, into one. Very Buddhistic. The clapping hands and the trees of the forest all part of the same flow.
Of course Joyce got it—never mind the literati who would claim him for themselves. He is ours’.
Life is one.
All thought is a removal, an abstraction to a greater or less degree, from Life. And when we get right down to it, all of our yearning, all of our questing and craving after “enlightenment”, boils down to an instinctively experienced desire away from thought and back to an utter and complete participation in what I like to refer to as “The Great Flowing Through” of Life.
Thknaughts. Thoughts. Knots. Naughts.
Lots of words.
That, more or less, is the medium of a blog.
But they inevitably mislead, are taken for the thing in itself rather than allusions toward something else.
The naughts of the knotting thoughts.