Let’s face it. The Dark Side of Duality is obvious. There is the devil going down to Georgia and St. Peter pulling Guard Duty at the P. Gates. Call him P. Diddy. Anyhoo, the dark side can be fun. I like Dark Milky Ways and Dr. Jekyll is a popular literary character. I could go on, but I won’t. For there is a dark side to nonduality and I am going to shine a mini Maglite on it.
There is a certain type of neoadvaitan that I am fond of poking fun at. I have never actually met one because they don’t exist, apparently. It is always fun to poke fun at nonentities. Their dark side must be hidden under a cloak of many layers. The first layer is denial. Oh, it’s not just a river in— well, you know. “I am not the body,” true neos love to proclaim. And I’m thinking, “It’s a good thing, because I wouldn’t want to be in your body either. Just look at those love handles.”
The next layer is disassociation with reality. Maybe that’s why you see so many neos going around with tubs of popcorn. Their apparent nonexistence, being like a movie, mandates popcorn, which explains the love handles.
The third layer is that they live in the timeless state, sort of like in Vegas, where there are no clocks. They can no longer read Hickory Dickory Dock because “there is no clock. “ However, when they get to the line where it says, “The clock struck one,” they feel the need to begin parsing the meaning of one. Big sigh.
The fourth layer is that they claim to be in a state of permanent bliss. This is sometimes known as The Bliss Ninny Syndrome. You could hit ‘em with custard pies all day long. Put seltzer down their pants and repossess their smile and they would still claim total contentment.
The fifth layer is now getting closer to the truth. They claim that they are “not the doer.” Note the quote marks. They love to say this when someone is facing a difficult decision, like when to pull the plug on their cable TV, which is akin to losing a loved one. “There is no doer,” they declaim, while the owner of said TV is crying real tears over not being able to watch Entertainment Tonight. “Don’t tell ME there’s no doer,” the ET addict sobs, “Who is walking the red carpet then?!”
The neo is growing darker by the moment. He’s like a lightning bug ring some child is wearing on their finger. It’s just a matter of time until the light goes out.
The sixth layer is right at the edge of the denial. They claim to love and forgive everyone for they know that there is only the Self. Then why are they telling me to stop writing this? A mob of neoadvaitans are gathering right outside of my office. They are telling me to get offline now!
The seventh layer is where I stop. You know that recipe for Seven-layer Salad where there is a layer of lettuce, bacon, onion cheese, peas, etc.? Right underneath the seventh layer is the bare naked truth of who we really are. A big glass salad bowl. We are mere containers for layers of verbiage claiming to represent emptiness. And people who live in glass salad bowls shouldn’t throw stones. Ouch! The neos are in the house, taking me hostage. Help, help! There is not only peas on earth, they are all over my office floor. Somebody give me a fork….