Suddenly it’s clear: there’s no one there. Just empty space.
… you become superconscious of your breathing, but it’s no longer yours. It’s like watching an animal breathe, as if through a lens. You ask, Who is it breathing? There is the rustle of inhalation followed by exhalation. Whose breath is it?
You switch your attention to your sight. The question spontaneously arises: Whose sight is it?
And there’s hearing: some kind of faint hiss in the room, and a soft rumble perhaps of a boiler in the basement, deep under the floor. Again: Who is hearing? It’s as if some unknown being has usurped your senses.
As you receive these sense experiences–breathing, seeing, hearing–you try to find out who it really is sitting in the middle of them. What is there, in the space betweenhearing, seeing, breathing? There must be something there, because that’s where you are. But the more deeply you examine this space in the middle, the harder it is to identify who’s in there.
Suddenly it’s clear: there’s no one there. Just empty space. Breathing is happening, but there is no one breathing. Where there ought to be a breather, only space. There’s hearing, but no one hearing. Where there should be a hearer, just space.
It’s this again: no one.
Message from Henry is an excerpt from Henry’s path of training as recounted in One Blade of Grass