Duality or Non-dualism?

In certain eastern mystical traditions duality is a very frowned-upon thing, but in UniThou, duality is embraced, because, in order to be truly non-dual, duality, or separateness cannot be discarded. Have you ever heard the creation myth of Brahma and Maya? If not, check it out here:
http://shrishari.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/myth-of-maya-and-brahma-tantric.html

In this myth, the non-dual splits in two so that it can experience a game of hide and seek:
this gives it the opportunity to experience that moment of discovery, which is always charged with a special uniqueness, due to time and the journey which lead the individual (notice that word ends in “-dual”) to it.

Remember that other saying “In the beginning, there was the word”? Well, in this instance, we can think of the “word” as Maya, or illusion. The discovery of our non-dual nature is beyond words, but words can give us clues, and those skilled in giving us clues, we refer to as poets. Most of the best poetry speaks not of the solutions to our problems, because that would be disrespectful to the reader, or didactic. The poet acknowledges that everybody knows the solutions, and so poems are more often about problems, and the dualistic, disconnected experience. All great art is imbued with a sense of longing. How does this work? Well, it requires the reader to participate in the poem, and try to sink into it, a bit like Brahma sinks into illusion. Then, if the poem is an effective one, an unique type of empathy is evoked, which can bring about a taste of connectedness, or UniThou.

Many new-age gurus will purport “Be in the now” or “You are now” which is partly true, but you are also, in that case, the past, which was now, and the future, which will be now, each ‘now’ offering the opportunity for the unique discovery to take place, but which could not take place without the fractal nature of time and movement.

SANDMAN (prose poem)

So, last night, in the early hours of the morning, I couldn’t sleep. My solution was to pick up my mattress and drag it all the way over to the seaside. I positioned it, mid-beach, then laid back down. The temperature was neither warm nor cold, and there was no breeze to hint of any change in the weather. Calypso made her presence felt and laid peacefully beside me. The moon was full, and the stars of either now, or long ago looked on in approval. I lay still, and as a baby, let my lower abdomen take full control of my every breath. I yawned and allowed the mattress bear my entire weight.
The ocean russled…
The moon shone…

My limbs might just as well have been glued to the mattress, since they had remained motionless for hours now – so, instinctually, i peeled myself off its surface, and approached the shoreline.
I then found myself the perfect pozzy where i could play with the sticks, stones and sand. Instead of a castle, as such, i con­structed a metropolis with tall structures, with roads where tiny pieces of dead wood played the part of cars and people. A setting within which it became increasingly possible to carry out myriad imaginations. A gritty world of happiness, of torture, and of the dramas I’m so desperate to see and vicariously live through.

What a wonder: the metropolis!

Ahh, its potential personas – they were suddenly so essential to me, in such a silent, stagnant paradise. Lonesome lucidity within such a polished self-satisfaction, and yet, what is it with­out a position or a direction even (and since my efforts to con­struct a steeple crumble, and will continue to crumble)?