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What is, as it is…

What is, as it is…

“Meditation does not consist of directing attention to a fixed point, nor of reaching a particular state of mind, nor of deliberately inducing some form of inner stillness. Nor is it an attempt to capture an essence supposedly hidden in the depths of the body. In its most rigorous sense, meditation does not involve searching, expecting, or producing an experience. Its most decisive act—and perhaps the most difficult to sustain—lies in suspending the belief that there is a subject who meditates.
The figure of the “meditator,” that subject who imagines himself traveling a path toward consciousness as if it were external, remote, or even inaccessible, is part of the same artifice that genuine meditation silently deactivates as it unfolds. There is no real displacement between the one who believes himself to be separate and that which he aspires to attain. Strictly speaking, there is no path to consciousness, for it cannot be located. It is not hidden behind the eyelids, nor does it take refuge in the pauses between breaths, nor does it slip through the cracks of thought. The Self—that name which different traditions have attributed to what has also been called Brahman, Consciousness, or simply That—does not present itself as a phenomenon or an event. It does not emerge in time or withdraw from it. It has no beginning and no end. It does not need to manifest itself in order to be. It is not contained in the body or specifically outside it, it is not channeled by any method, nor is it activated by the will. It does not depend on experience. It is, and its being is unconditional.
The idea that meditation is a means to attain consciousness contains a delicate conceptual error. It implies assuming that what has never ceased to be present must nevertheless be recovered. The logical structure of this assumption recalls the absurdity of imagining that the ocean must submerge itself in a drop in order to be recognized as water, or that space must contract into a corner in order to prove its infinity. Consciousness is not conquered. It does not begin. It does not occur… it does not happen… it remains.
Heidegger, in his later writings, articulates a related insight: “it does not matter what is given, but that it is given.” The essence of the phenomenon does not lie in the content of what appears, but in the very fact of appearing. This gift without origin or direction, without cause or purpose, is the mark of Being. The forms it takes—an image, a sound, a thought—have no ontological weight. The essential is not what is given, but the giving itself. What is given may vary; the fact that there is appearance is what cannot be reduced. Meditating, from this perspective, does not involve focusing on the contents of consciousness. It is not a practice of observing the breath, following the flow of the mind, or contemplating internal phenomena. Rather, it consists of clearly holding the evidence of what is happening without attribution or appropriation. Not from an exterior that controls or judges, but from the immediacy with which everything manifests itself as consciousness. Not within a framework that organizes the elements, but as a direct expression of what already is.
Even so, language becomes problematic. Every attempt to describe the unconditioned runs the risk of introducing a form that constrains it. Words, however refined, impose a boundary. And any attempt to define that which exceeds the concept, even with the utmost precision, incurs an inevitable loss. To name what cannot be named is to delimit it; to try to possess it is, in essence, to deny it.
Meditation, therefore, cannot be understood as a path leading to consciousness, because such a reading starts from an illusory separation. It is not a practice of the self aimed at obtaining what it still lacks, but rather the interruption of that fiction: the cessation of the self as the organizing instance of meaning. It is not a matter of acquiring anything, but of ceasing to hold that there is anything to be acquired. And when that abandonment occurs, discreetly, without calculation or pretension, no extraordinary experience ensues, nor is any dazzling truth revealed.
What remains is what is…
Unadorned… without interpretive framework… without decoration.
Simply what is, as it is…”
Prabhuji
The Metaphysics of “God Exists”

The Metaphysics of “God Exists”

“Gottlob Frege, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and the early thinkers associated with analytical philosophy of language did not merely delimit an area of work within contemporary thought. They modified the very coordinates that structure the relationship between thought, language, and truth. Their project, anchored in the aspiration for rigor characteristic of the formal sciences, stripped language of all psychological depth, of any expressive or emotional connotation. They reconfigured it as a system governed by rules, subject to logical decomposition, and verifiable through the exact procedures of symbolic mathematics.
This new approach was not a simple methodological refinement. It represented a transformation in the very way of conceiving philosophical discourse. Attention ceased to focus on what the speaker believes they are communicating, on their inner experience or on the existential resonance of the statement. What mattered was the logical form of the propositions, their ability to articulate themselves within a coherent conceptual structure. From this perspective, language ceased to operate as a vehicle of expression and became an instrument of formalization. It was no longer a matter of interpreting meanings, but of examining structures.
In this context, logical analysis was not limited to correcting ambiguities, but imposed normative conditions on meaning. And when this scheme is transferred to the field of metaphysics, the effects are quickly felt. Consider a proposition laden with theological weight and philosophical tradition: “God exists.” Viewed from an analytical perspective, this statement cannot be accepted without a rigorous examination of its elements. What exactly does the term ‘God’ refer to? What is being asserted by the verb “to exist”? And what logical relationship links the two terms?
Scholastic theology, especially in its Thomistic formulation, responds by affirming that in God there is no distinction between essence and existence. It is not a matter of an entity to which being is added as a property; it is a matter of a being whose essence consists in being: esse subsistens. The proposition does not express an external relationship, but an ontological identity. Within it, subject and predicate are confused. However, what was self-evident to medieval metaphysics becomes problematic in the light of modern criticism. Descartes, Hume, and Kant, each from their own perspective, dismantle the claim to uphold ontological statements without first subjecting them to the principles that regulate knowledge. In this new grammar of thinking, it is no longer enough to invoke tradition or appeal to definitions. The proposition “God exists” must prove that it makes sense within a logic that can recognize it as meaningful. Here, a distinction introduced by Frege and articulated more systematically by Bertrand Russell becomes relevant: the difference between first- and second-order predications. In the former, the subject is given as an empirical reality, and the predicate introduces an attributable property. To say “this table is white” presupposes the existence of the object and adds a perceptible quality. In this framework, to assert “this table exists” adds no relevant information. It ratifies what was already assumed. The proposition becomes tautological; its content is exhausted in a reiteration.
Something similar occurs with analytical judgments such as “a triangle has three angles” or “a circle is round.”
In these cases, the predicate is contained in the definition of the subject. No new content is introduced; rather, a truth that is already implicit is made explicit. Their validity is not verified through experience, but through the analysis of concepts. They do not discover or clarify. Second-level predications, on the other hand, disrupt this logic. In these cases, the subject is neither empirically given nor conceptually assured.
To assert “the unicorn exists” is not to attribute a property to the unicorn, but to declare that there is an entity corresponding to that concept. Here, the predicate ‘exists’ is not redundant. It is the point of tension. What is at issue is not the relationship between subject and predicate, but the ontological legitimacy of the subject itself. The proposition “God exists” falls into this zone of ambiguity. It has the form of an assertion, but its subject lacks empirical guarantee and its reference remains uncertain. Defining God as “the necessary being” does not solve the problem. The ontological proof, in any of its formulations, encounters the same objection already raised by Kant. In the Kritik der reinen Vernunft, he denies that existence can be treated as a real predicate. He states this with absolute clarity:
“Existenz ist kein reales Prädikat, d. i. ein Begriff von etwas, was zu dem Begriffe eines Dinges hinzukommen könnte.”
“Existence is not a real predicate, that is, a concept that can be added to the concept of a thing.”
(Critique of Pure Reason, A599/B627)
With this, Kant dismantles the central premise of rationalist theology. Existence does not extend the concept of a thing; it is not added as another property. It is, instead, the act of placing an object in experience. Therefore, “God exists” cannot be presented as an analytical judgment or as an empirical statement. It is found in a liminal region, where the statement has logical form, but its subject does not have a clear ontological status. Hence, according to Kant, its acceptance is not justified theoretically, but ethically. Practical reason—not speculative reason—requires postulating the existence of God as a condition for moral coherence.
It is now appropriate to consider a third mode of predication: that in which there is no addition, but identity. The predicate does not enrich the subject: it reveals it as what it already is. Thomistic metaphysics affirms that God does not possess being as something added: He is being itself. “God is being” is neither an empirical proposition nor a conventional definition. It is an expression of ontological identity. Such a statement does not describe a property: it articulates a unity. But this structure, however solid it may seem conceptually, does not impose itself as evident to finite consciousness. There is no experience that certifies this equivalence, nor any analysis that verifies it. From our perspective, this identity appears as a hypothesis without immediate confirmation. And here the need arises for a fourth category: a form of predication where subject and predicate really coincide, even if this coincidence is not apparent as such to the subject who utters it. Identity is real, but unrecognized.
This figure finds suggestive correspondences in certain non-dualistic doctrines, such as Advaita Vedānta or Mahāyāna Buddhism. There it is affirmed that the separation between the knower and the known is illusory. In this framework, to say “God exists” is not to make a judgment about a distinct entity, but to recognize a unity that is only actualized when the split between subject and object ceases. It is not a logical statement, but a form of knowledge that emerges when consciousness is transformed and recognized as identical to reality.
From a different, though no less demanding, perspective, Martin Heidegger raises a fundamental objection to propositional logic. In Sein und Zeit, being is not a property that can be attributed, nor an object that can be represented. It is the very horizon of manifestation, that which allows something to appear without itself appearing as something. To affirm that “God exists”—from this point of view—is to subject being to the logic of the entity, to treat it as if it were just another object among others. It is, therefore, to fall into the fundamental error of Western metaphysics: to forget the ontological difference.
The notion of ἀλήθεια (aletheia), which Heidegger recovers from Greek, designates not a truth as correspondence, but as un-concealment. Being manifests itself, but does not allow itself to be thematized as content. In this framework, to say “God is being” is not a logical proposition, but an attempt to name that which whose appearance transcends all language. The fourth category of predication, understood here, does not extend logic: it suspends it. It is not a matter of classifying, but of giving space to the unappropriable without reducing it.
The distinction between levels of predication—first level, second level, identity, and limit—should not be understood as a closed system. It functions rather as a philosophical tool for questioning the possible ways of affirming existence. In Kant, it allows us to delimit what can be said meaningfully from theoretical reason. In Heidegger, it points to the very inadequacy of the proposition as a vehicle of being. In both, a shared demand is raised: to think beyond the conditions imposed by language itself.
Perhaps this demand—to say what exceeds saying—encodes the most delicate task of contemporary thought. A philosophy that does not limit itself to repeating inherited formulas, but also does not take refuge in ineffability. A philosophy capable of inhabiting the limit without closing it off.”
Prabhuji
The concept of time according to Heidegger

The concept of time according to Heidegger

“The concept of temporality in Heidegger, as interpreted by Derrida, is opposed to the chronological conception of time, characterized by its uniformity, measurability, and linearity. This chronological time, which Heidegger calls ”middle time” (mittlere Zeit), shapes the ordinary experience of time as a neutral succession of measurable instants. This representation presupposes a homogeneous continuity, available for quantification and external to the subject.
In contrast, Heideggerian temporality designates a structure that cannot be reduced to objective temporal units or inscribed in a stable frame of reference. Its character does not allow it to be subordinated to the logic of chronology. Indeed, Derrida observes that time in Heidegger is composed of multiple directions that diverge from one another. This intertwining of temporal dimensions reveals a discontinuous, non-unified and, at times, even contradictory organization.
This heterogeneity breaks with the metaphysical tradition that conceives of time as a continuous and indifferent flow. Heidegger shifts this paradigm by asserting that time is not a phenomenon that is added to existence. On the contrary, time occurs as the very structure of being of Dasein. In his words: “Die Zeit ist nicht etwas, was zum Dasein hinzukommt, sondern sie ist das eigentliche Sein des Daseins” (Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, §65). In other words, time is not something that is added to Dasein: it constitutes its very being.
Dasein, as an existing being that anticipates and projects itself, does not live within a pre-established time. It temporalizes its existence from its own mode of being-in-the-world. From this perspective, to say that time is Dasein is to recognize that temporality is not given as content, but arises as an opening of possibilities. Therefore, authentic time cannot be reduced to magnitudes or captured by measuring instruments. It is the very unfolding of existence.
Derrida takes up this conception by asserting that reading Heidegger requires conceiving of a time without measure, without reference to homogeneous scales. In Donner le temps, he writes: “Ce temps ne donne rien, pas même le temps; il ne se donne pas comme temps mesurable, homogène, présentable” or “This time gives nothing, not even time; it does not give itself as measurable, homogeneous, presentable time.” (Derrida, Donner le temps, p. 33). Original temporality is not expressed in figures, rhythms, or calendars. It implies a radical transformation of the understanding of time.
This intuition can even be glimpsed in everyday situations. When someone says “I’ll be back in a while,” the term does not refer to a definite quantity, but to an expectation experienced in relation to the other or to the context. This type of temporal experience has also been addressed by some Lutheran theologians, who distinguish between chronological time and lived time. The experience of the moment is not equivalent to a fraction of a second or a segment within a uniform succession. Rather, it constitutes a form of openness or interruption that transcends any system of measurement.
This temporal modality does not fit into a sequence, but introduces a break, a qualitative interval in the flow of the usual. In Heidegger, the difference between temporality and temporariness does not establish an opposition between two kinds of time, but refers to two modes of understanding being. While conventional temporality presupposes a subject inhabiting an external time, temporariness redefines being as that which temporalizes.
Existence is not situated in an objective time: it is configured as time insofar as it projects itself into the future, retains its past, and actualizes itself in its present. In Sein und Zeit, Heidegger formulates this idea precisely: “Die Einheit des ekstatischen Horizonts der Zeit macht die Einheit der Auslegung des Seins aus” or “The unity of the ecstatic horizon of time constitutes the unity of the interpretation of being.” (Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, §69).
This reformulation radically transforms the question of being. Temporality is no longer limited to being a context in which being unfolds. It becomes the ontological condition through which being can manifest itself. In this sense, time is not thought of as quantifiable duration, but as the structural opening of existence.
This reformulation shifts the question of being from its very roots. Temporality is no longer conceived as an external framework in which being unfolds, but as its ontological condition of possibility. Time is no longer thought of as quantifiable duration but is understood instead as the structural opening that configures the existence of Dasein.
The originality of Heidegger’s thought lies in having removed the notion of time from classical representational schemes and restored it to the plane of factual existence. In this orientation, temporality does not function as a neutral background, but as the horizon that articulates all understanding of being. Thinking about time does not imply representing it as an object, but recognizing its structuring function in ontological understanding. This inversion requires a critical suspension of the traditional categories of time—instant, duration, succession—and anticipates the conceptual twist that Derrida will develop in the framework of différance.
Différance, a central notion in Derrida’s thought, does not designate an entity or a property. It is a movement without a fixed origin, an instance that differs and postpones, preventing any closure of meaning in the figure of presence. As a deferred structure, it points to the impossibility of full coincidence with itself and subverts any conception of time as a series of identifiable moments. Time, in this perspective, lacks a beginning, a culmination, and the possibility of synthesis. It reveals itself as an endless opening, an ever-displaced becoming. This conception resonates with Heideggerian temporality, which also interrupts the claim of presence as the ultimate foundation.
Derrida does not simply prolong Heidegger’s thought. He critically questions it and pushes it to the limits of its own consistency. While Heidegger attempts to conceive of a non-vulgar time based on the finitude of Dasein, Derrida revisits the very possibility of founding a temporal origin. In Sein und Zeit, Heidegger states: “Das Dasein ist je schon gewesend in seiner Existenz.” Dasein has always already been in its existence. Derrida, however, distrusts the stability implicit in this “already” and examines its consequences for the constitution of temporal meaning.
From this perspective, the impossibility of fixing a stable temporal origin leads to a conception of time as structural dislocation. Time not only exceeds all measure; it also eludes all reappropriation as full presence. In Derrida’s thought, temporal experience is constituted as exposure to what escapes, to what never gives itself as a totality. In Donner le temps, Derrida formulates: “Ce temps ne donne rien, pas même le temps.” This time gives nothing, not even time. The gift is not realized as a full giving, but as an interruption, as a break in the economy of presence.
This shift allows us to think about existential temporality beyond the framework of philosophical anthropology. Time does not constitute a structure derived from the human subject, nor can it be reduced to a function of being. It is the unfounded condition of all possibility of meaning. It does not emerge as a supplement to being or as a product of its manifestation: it is inscribed as the trace of a difference that is never present in act. Thinking about time at the intersection between Heidegger and Derrida requires abandoning all certainty about the moment and accepting the constitutive instability of that which never ceases to be deferred.
Both authors converge in their rejection of the traditional conception of time as a measurable, homogeneous, and sequential unit. However, while Heidegger reinscribes it as the ontological structure of being-in-the-world, Derrida dislocates it until it becomes prior to any ontological thematization. At this confluence, time ceases to fulfill the function of ordering events and reveals itself as a sign of radical exposure to otherness. This irreducible alteration prevents any definitive closure of meaning and opens up a space in which being can no longer assert itself without the constitutive lag that runs through it.
This conception of time, devoid of linearity, measurement, and assured presence, is not reduced to an ontological reconfiguration. Its radiation decisively affects the ethical, hermeneutic, and theological domains. In the ethical realm, the impossibility of fixing an absolute present inaugurates a responsibility without location, irreducible to any structure of reciprocity. In Emmanuel Levinas, this discontinuous temporality is expressed as an exposure to otherness that precedes all anticipation. The relationship is not inscribed in simultaneity, nor in the correlation of presences, but in a diachrony that fractures any economy of exchange. The demand of the other cannot be measured or reabsorbed; it imposes itself from an exteriority that never fully presents itself, but is constantly binding.
From a hermeneutic perspective, time ceases to function as a neutral support for meaning. Understanding no longer consists in synthesizing stabilized horizons, but in exposing oneself to an incessant deferral that prevents any closure. Meaning is not given as a finished product, but appears in a discontinuous, interrupted form, sustained by an openness that never closes. This orientation, initially articulated by Heidegger, finds rigorous elaboration in Jean-Luc Nancy. For him, meaning is not delivered as available content, but “exposed” in an interrupted temporality, shared in its finitude, partage without totality. Far from a full presence, meaning occurs as an interval, as a mismatch between signification and event.
On the theological level, this understanding of time destabilizes any attempt to inscribe the absolute event in a recognizable sequence. If time cannot be reduced to measure or presence, then revelation—in its most radical sense—cannot coincide with a chronological inscription or a full figure. In Maurice Blanchot, this disarticulation unfolds as an event that does not appear, except in its own withdrawal. The instant of saying, when something bursts in without fixing itself, approaches an experience without its own form, structurally akin to that which cannot be thematized. This is not an affirmative theology, but rather an opening sustained by silence, where mystery resists all conceptual appropriation. Saying does not consume a truth, it only exposes it to its own impossibility.
On this horizon, time is no longer conceived as an ordering principle or as an epistemic axis of guarantee. It manifests itself as the unstable condition from which responsibility to the irreducible, interpretation without closure, and openness to the unrepresentable are constituted. This temporality forces us to think of being not as an offered presence, but as a sustained exposure, oriented by a waiting that is never fulfilled. Existence does not move toward an attainable fullness, but toward a promise that withdraws, in which meaning remains in transit, with no possible closure. Thinking about time in this way means removing it from all logic of calculation, in order to receive it as a deferred trace of that which cannot be surrendered without residue.”
Prabhuji