oneness
“天地與我並生，萬物與我為一”
- 齊物論
On the edge of the cliff, self-love exists as a delicate threshold between the realms of the body and the mind. Here, the dangers of life intertwine with the solace of self-fulfillment. In this elevated state of consciousness, the performer transcends conventional boundaries, embracing an act that surpasses the limitations of the physical and emotional. In the moment of climax, we also refer to it as 'little death.' Individuals break free from the constraints of the self, They embark on a profound exploration of our interconnected nature, entering a non-dualistic reality where the self and the other converge into a harmonious whole.
This work is in fact a prank on meditation, a flirtation with spiritual vanity that attempting to touch upon one of the most elusive paradoxes in practice: the sensation of “oneness.” As the ultimate bait of spiritual experience, it appears to transcend duality, yet more often than not, it is merely a magnificent stitching together of consciousness’s fractured nature.
“The observer is the observed.” Any attempt to dissolve the boundary between subject and object through effort quietly reinforces that invisible wall. Practitioners seek to break the divide between self and other through meditation, but the moment you try to “become” a certain state, the very act of trying—of “I” striving toward oneness—already presupposes opposition.
Those who chase truth through pain or sacrifice are often just feeding the self in another form. What we call the “sense of self” is, in fact, entirely deconstructible. When we cease clinging to the illusion of an “experiencer,” consciousness is no longer trapped in the prison of subject-object division.
The so-called experience of “resonance with the universe” during meditation is often nothing more than a nervous system overcompensating for silence. Ascetic practitioners who pursue full-lotus sitting positions tend to provoke states of mental intensity through physical pain—like pricking a numb fingertip with a needle, mistaking the sudden sting for “connection with all things.” But this state is essentially no different from the dizziness of intoxication—both are compensatory illusions fabricated by consciousness to escape everyday anxiety.
When a practitioner misreads cranial pressure during sitting as “cosmic unity,” they are unknowingly reenacting shamanic rituals of primitive tribes—feeding spiritual vanity with physiological responses. And the subtler trap lies in the temporal nature of “oneness.” Every effort to prolong such a state only feeds the phantom of an “eternal self.” Like someone trying to preserve the first snowfall, all that remains in the end is a puddle of muddy water. The more one clings to “timeless wholeness,” the deeper the grooves of anxiety carved into the mind. Those who claim to have entered the “eternal now” are often like ostriches burying their pocket watches in the dunes—the ticking of the second hand still reverberates beneath the sand. True liberation is often found in the most unexpected cracks.
The wisdom of “formless awareness” lies in completely relinquishing the urge to name experience. When you no longer label aching legs as “obstacles,” or serene stillness as “enlightenment”; when the trembling of breath is no longer called “distraction” or “progress”—that untainted awareness, free from conceptual pollution, becomes the blade that pierces all spiritual illusions. Just as night never announces itself as the prelude to dawn, the wholeness of existence quietly reveals itself only in the letting go of all attempts to make it still.
The final illusion to unravel is this: there is no one experiencing oneness. That “I” who feels united with the universe is nothing but a whirlpool briefly rising from the stream of consciousness. When all techniques dissolve into dust, and even the idea of “non-practice as practice” falls into silence, you may suddenly realize—wholeness was never broken to begin with, just as waves have never left the ocean.We tend to believe in a constant “self”—perceiving, practicing, merging with the cosmos. But in time, you’ll see: this “I” is itself an illusion, a product of thought, a bundle of memory, experience, and conditioned response—not an independent or immutable entity. The so-called “me” is just a continuity woven by memory, a dream constructed by the mind.
You think there is a “you” observing—but this so-called “observer” is nothing more than a heap of past impressions, an echo of memory. And the moment you truly see this, the division between observer and observed begins to dissolve.
ongoing project
“天地與我並生，萬物與我為一”
- 齊物論
On the edge of the cliff, self-love exists as a delicate threshold between the realms of the body and the mind. Here, the dangers of life intertwine with the solace of self-fulfillment. In this elevated state of consciousness, the performer transcends conventional boundaries, embracing an act that surpasses the limitations of the physical and emotional. In the moment of climax, we also refer to it as 'little death.' Individuals break free from the constraints of the self, They embark on a profound exploration of our interconnected nature, entering a non-dualistic reality where the self and the other converge into a harmonious whole.
This work is in fact a prank on meditation, a flirtation with spiritual vanity that attempting to touch upon one of the most elusive paradoxes in practice: the sensation of “oneness.” As the ultimate bait of spiritual experience, it appears to transcend duality, yet more often than not, it is merely a magnificent stitching together of consciousness’s fractured nature.
“The observer is the observed.” Any attempt to dissolve the boundary between subject and object through effort quietly reinforces that invisible wall. Practitioners seek to break the divide between self and other through meditation, but the moment you try to “become” a certain state, the very act of trying—of “I” striving toward oneness—already presupposes opposition.
Those who chase truth through pain or sacrifice are often just feeding the self in another form. What we call the “sense of self” is, in fact, entirely deconstructible. When we cease clinging to the illusion of an “experiencer,” consciousness is no longer trapped in the prison of subject-object division.
The so-called experience of “resonance with the universe” during meditation is often nothing more than a nervous system overcompensating for silence. Ascetic practitioners who pursue full-lotus sitting positions tend to provoke states of mental intensity through physical pain—like pricking a numb fingertip with a needle, mistaking the sudden sting for “connection with all things.” But this state is essentially no different from the dizziness of intoxication—both are compensatory illusions fabricated by consciousness to escape everyday anxiety.
When a practitioner misreads cranial pressure during sitting as “cosmic unity,” they are unknowingly reenacting shamanic rituals of primitive tribes—feeding spiritual vanity with physiological responses. And the subtler trap lies in the temporal nature of “oneness.” Every effort to prolong such a state only feeds the phantom of an “eternal self.” Like someone trying to preserve the first snowfall, all that remains in the end is a puddle of muddy water. The more one clings to “timeless wholeness,” the deeper the grooves of anxiety carved into the mind. Those who claim to have entered the “eternal now” are often like ostriches burying their pocket watches in the dunes—the ticking of the second hand still reverberates beneath the sand. True liberation is often found in the most unexpected cracks.
The wisdom of “formless awareness” lies in completely relinquishing the urge to name experience. When you no longer label aching legs as “obstacles,” or serene stillness as “enlightenment”; when the trembling of breath is no longer called “distraction” or “progress”—that untainted awareness, free from conceptual pollution, becomes the blade that pierces all spiritual illusions. Just as night never announces itself as the prelude to dawn, the wholeness of existence quietly reveals itself only in the letting go of all attempts to make it still.
The final illusion to unravel is this: there is no one experiencing oneness. That “I” who feels united with the universe is nothing but a whirlpool briefly rising from the stream of consciousness. When all techniques dissolve into dust, and even the idea of “non-practice as practice” falls into silence, you may suddenly realize—wholeness was never broken to begin with, just as waves have never left the ocean.We tend to believe in a constant “self”—perceiving, practicing, merging with the cosmos. But in time, you’ll see: this “I” is itself an illusion, a product of thought, a bundle of memory, experience, and conditioned response—not an independent or immutable entity. The so-called “me” is just a continuity woven by memory, a dream constructed by the mind.
You think there is a “you” observing—but this so-called “observer” is nothing more than a heap of past impressions, an echo of memory. And the moment you truly see this, the division between observer and observed begins to dissolve.
ongoing project