There's a class you can take. A retreat you can go on. A book that lays out seven steps. A teacher with a method. A program with a name. Each promises to get you somewhere. Each implies there's a "there" to get to, and a "here" that isn't it, and a path between them you can walk.
K dissolved his entire international following in 1929 with a sentence. Truth is a pathless land. The full version, he spent the next 57 years explaining. The short version: any method that promises to get you to truth has already mistaken truth for a destination, the self for a traveler, and the present for a starting point that isn't where you should be.
The path-walker structure requires three pieces. A "here" that's wrong. A "there" that's right. A "me" that walks from one to the other. K's claim: all three are inventions. The "here" is the present, which is the only place you ever actually are. The "there" is an imagined state, which doesn't exist. The "me" is the fragment, which is what was supposed to be seen through in the first place. Run the path and you reinforce all three. The path is the disease.
Sit with this for a minute and the body might tighten. So much identity was wrapped up in being on the path. Reading the books. Doing the practice. Comparing where you are now to where you were last year. The progress charts. The plateau anxieties. All of it premised on a path that K is saying doesn't exist. The fragment doesn't like the dissolution. The fragment was the protagonist of the path.
There is no path because there is no there to walk to and no traveler to walk with. The seeing K pointed at is available now or not available at all. It doesn't arrive. It doesn't accumulate. It isn't a payoff for the practice. It's the cessation of the practitioner.