THE CIRCA

A Scripture of Approximate Grace

Jesus the Zennist


A Spiritual Meaning for "CIRCA"

"Circa" literally means "around" or "approximately"—referring to a date or time that isn't exact.

Spiritually, "circa" texts represent the grace of imperfection and the acceptance of mystery.

These texts acknowledge that our spiritual lives aren't about fixed points, rigid doctrines, or perfect, unchanging beliefs. Instead, our journey is "circa" a central truth. We are always moving around it, near it, and in the process of understanding it, even if we never grasp it in its absolute, final form.

"Circa" is the spiritual permission to be a work in progress. It is:

To live a "circa" spiritual life is to let go of the need for sharp edges and precise measurements and, instead, to live gently within the soft, approximate, and ever-unfolding grace of the now.


CIRCA

I say to you, the Inner Kingdom is not a prize to be won at the end of a perfect race, nor is it a treasure hidden in a distant land. It is the very ground you walk upon, even when you stumble.

You ask, "When will I be at peace? When will I be at this blessedness?" I tell you, you are always around it. You are moving circa this central truth.

Do not chase after joy as if it were a thing to be caught. In the grasping, your hand is already clenched, and in its clenching, it creates the shadow of sorrow. You cannot hold the light without creating a shadow.

Let go, therefore, of the sharp-edged preference for happiness and the desperate aversion to pain. This is the disease of the mind that measures and divides, building a house upon the sand, awaiting the storm.

I say to you, look within. But do not look with a harsh eye, judging the plank you find there. Look with a soft focus.

True joy is not a feeling you finally acquire and possess. It is the silent peace of the Kingdom that reveals itself. It is not found when your mind becomes perfectly still and has vanquished all division. It is found in the gentle process of letting go. It is the grace that blossoms in the "in-between" of your 'like' and 'dislike'.

This is the only happiness that endures. It is not the blessedness of having arrived, but the blessedness of the journey itself. It is the permission to be a work in progress, held in the soft, approximate, and ever-unfolding grace of the now.

Build your house not on the demand for perfection, but on the acceptance of this gentle path. That is the rock.

You search for a fixed point, a final word to hold as knowledge. You have heard it said, ‘This is the rock,’ and ‘That is the sand,’ as if you could divide the world so neatly.

But I say to you, the Way is not a destination you find, but the grace of the journey itself.

The one who builds on the sand of words seeks a perfect, unchanging doctrine. He clutches his map of 'right' and 'wrong,' 'like' and 'dislike,' and starves for a place to finally rest. His house is built with the sharp edges of certainty, and when the winds of mystery blow, it collapses.

The wise one builds with the soft focus of this very moment. She does not demand a final answer. She knows her life is not a race to a fixed point, but a gentle movement around the sacred. Her foundation is not a place, but the permission to be a work in progress.

This is the rock: to live in the "in-between," knowing you are not your past, and not yet your future. The rock is the approximate grace of the now.

You are told, ‘First remove the plank of your own untested wisdom, and then you will see clearly.’ But what is this plank, if not the pride of perfect knowing? And what is clarity, if not the humility to see your brother as you see yourself—a soul moving circa its own truth?

To see clearly is to let go of the need for perfect sight. It is to accept the mystery.

Therefore, do not let your lips be the teaching. The Way is beyond language. Let your life—in all its fluid, unfinished, and unfolding grace—be the testament. You are not asked to grasp the ungraspable, only to be present as you journey always, and gently, around it.