All spiritual practices are illusions—
created by illusionists—
to escape illusion.
Gandalf said that.
(Or was it Ram Dass? Six of one…)
There’s a lot to unwind there.
Let’s unwind.
Practice matters.
Understanding matters.
Showing up matters.
But they do not deliver peace.
Not directly—
Not ever.
(They do, however, award a ribbon for perfect attendance.)
We practice not to achieve,
but to prepare.
To soften.
To steady the waters—
so something deeper might reveal itself.
Practice is an invitation
You can’t make peace happen.
You can woo it,
create space for it.
But the real transformation comes—
on its own time.
In its own way.
Still, we practice.
Even when it feels dry.
Even when it fails us.
Especially when it fails us.
Practice helps—
right up until the time it doesn’t.
(Like duct tape.)
When that moment comes,
don’t blame yourself.
It’s not your failure.
It’s the practice reaching its limit.
Blame the practice—gently.
It can take it.
A good practice destroys itself:
It helps.
It shifts.
And then—
it dissolves…
Leaving behind a point of entry.
Practice can change how we see.
It can even change what we feel.
But it cannot transform what we are.
Only Tao can do that—
Through trust.
Through stillness.
Genuine transformation comes only when we stop trying to earn it.
(Think spiritual capitalism—except the exact opposite.)
And that—my friend—is the practice.
So do the work.
Hold the structure—
until the structure no longer holds you.
And then—let go.
All at once.
In a glance.
In totality.
Suddenly you are no longer practicing.
A good practice dissolves itself.
A great practice dissolves you along with it.
(Poof!)
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