The Scripture of Nothing in Particular and Everything in General

Soon in your local place of worship

Aug 28, 2025

I wrote a short book. It’s called The Scripture of Nothing in Particular and Everything in General. It’s a playful, poetic, and paradoxical exploration of reality, identity, and the nature of existence.

A few months ago, I started writing verses — short passages, insights, pointing this way and that way, poems, reminders, descriptions, satirical quips. The collection grew, and, at some point, it looked like a small book. And so that’s what it became. The only thing missing was a title.

I almost considered beginning the title with The Sutra of… but then I came upon a lesser-known work by Jack Kerouac titled The Scripture of the Golden Eternity — that son of a bitch had written sutra, too. I like Jack’s writing, and the word scripture stuck. So as an homage to my Christian upbringing and Mr. Kerouac, The Scripture of Nothing in Particular and Everything in General, was the obvious title choice.

What’s inside?

Before the beginning, there was nothing in particular. But because it was nothing in particular, it was also everything in general. From that paradox blooms 69 brief, koan‑like passages inviting you into a space where logic turns inside out and everyday assumptions dissolve into wisps of dreamstuff.

This book is not a book. It's a banana peel on the sidewalk of your mind, and if you're naughty enough to step on it, you may find yourself laughing as you fall into everything. It's part sacred text, part cosmic joke, part mischievous transmission mainlined straight into your cerebellum, with watercolor paintings scattered in between to cleanse the palette from all the existential gymnastics this text will make you miss out on.

If you're looking for answers, you might be disappointed, but not in the way you think. Let these verses tickle your ribs and rearrange your furniture, and you may find something better than answers.

Read it slowly, or all at once, or not at all. Quote it, toss it across the room, underline everything, or nothing at all. Love it. Hate it. Just don’t take it too seriously. Or do. Same difference.

Snippets

Since even before the beginning there was nothing in particular. There was nothing there — the presence of absence. But because there was only nothing in particular, it was also everything in general. And a world seemed to have appeared. This world is nothing in particular and everything in general.

Forget the teachers, saints, gurus, sages, wise men who won’t tell you it’s all a joke, who will force you into a game devoid of belly laughter. Go and find the Cosmic Comedian; He will tell you.

This is not about me. What would this me be? This is about the planets and the stars and the rain and the double rainbows and the sand between toes and the burning dumpster fires and the smell of coffee and the laughter of children and the bombs that could destroy worlds and coming late to an appointment and coming early to a party and tears of sorrowful laughter and opulence and hunger and the chaos that surpasseth all misunderstanding and unconditional love and conditional hate and living passionately and dying peacefully and dancing in the streets and bliss, so much bliss, and finding that it’s all nothing anyway but this nothing incidentally comes as everything.

Describing the world means throwing words at nothing. What’s Air wearing today?

It’s all very simple. Every thought is a lie. Not a malicious lie — just make-believe. Make no more belief. Trust nothing more than any thought — see no truths in labels — and you’ll trust everything. Practice thus.

The life you think you should’ve lived? The person you wish you had become? The goals you wish you had achieved? The mistakes you shouldn’t have made? The actions you should’ve taken? The words you wish you had spoken differently? You’re comparing life to a lie. All the should’ve’s, could’ve’s, would’ve’s are only a way of thinking. None of that is real and all of it only leads you down to hell and hell is never more or less than halfway to heaven. Heaven is knowing that the imperfections don’t need ironing because the imperfections are inherently perfect. You’re right to say you’re imperfect = I’m perfect.

In Buddhism, Śūnyatā means “emptiness,” “voidness,” “nothingness” — nothing has inherent existence; everything is free from substance. In Advaita Vedanta, Ajātivāda means “no birth,” “no creation,” “no origination” — nothing is the base condition and nothing has ever truly come into existence. From nothing comes nothing. Everything (form) is nothing (formlessness). Nothing (emptiness) is everything (fullness).

You’re like a bird that builds a plane to fly. You sit inside your little cockpit, obsessed with your buttons and displays and toggles and levers, believing they accurately represent the experience of the Vast Open Sky. Meanwhile, your wings wither from neglect.