Journey to the center of the self
Go to your cupboard and find a glass and fill it with hot water. Go to your refrigerator and open the freezer and take out an ice cube. Place the ice cube into the glass of hot water. Note what happens.
Every artificial unit of time resembles every other. Are there really moments? No. So each moment is similar to every other moment in that it is an illusory division. If we keep paring down the stream of time until the units are infinitesimal, what do we have? Just the fluidity. Each moment seamlessly flowing into and from every other moment. Time is a mindfuck, the clock is mad, we are evanescent.
So what? So each moment is every other moment, conspiring to become one gigantic moment, from one illusory end of somethingness to the other. So who appears to perceive all this? Well, me, for one. Moment is moment, I is I. In order to create time we need perceived and perceiver; we must have our duality. There is no clapping with one hand. One hand clapping may be the truth, but it isn’t applause and it keeps no time.
So we incarnate ourselves into time; this is our time. It’s all smoke and mirrors but we wake up each day and delve back into it, dive into the stream of illusion, watch the clock, and suffer.
I say “we” because I cannot tolerate the great Aloneness. I is I, you is you, together we are we, and I must have this we or… Or it is too frightening. This is another mystery: if I don’t really exist, do you? The only way we dissolve this fear is through loving, through the unification that comes with love. Like the ice that melted in the glass. (You didn't really do that, did you?)
So we watch the clock and watch each other, each day we live our quotidian lives, the daily grind, we go to sleep swathed in our selfhood, saying goodnight to the mirrors, bathed in the smoke of illusion. But believe me these smoke and mirrors are not easily revealed as such, not so easily repudiated.
How entrenched is this illusion?
NEXT -->
Every artificial unit of time resembles every other. Are there really moments? No. So each moment is similar to every other moment in that it is an illusory division. If we keep paring down the stream of time until the units are infinitesimal, what do we have? Just the fluidity. Each moment seamlessly flowing into and from every other moment. Time is a mindfuck, the clock is mad, we are evanescent.
So what? So each moment is every other moment, conspiring to become one gigantic moment, from one illusory end of somethingness to the other. So who appears to perceive all this? Well, me, for one. Moment is moment, I is I. In order to create time we need perceived and perceiver; we must have our duality. There is no clapping with one hand. One hand clapping may be the truth, but it isn’t applause and it keeps no time.
So we incarnate ourselves into time; this is our time. It’s all smoke and mirrors but we wake up each day and delve back into it, dive into the stream of illusion, watch the clock, and suffer.
I say “we” because I cannot tolerate the great Aloneness. I is I, you is you, together we are we, and I must have this we or… Or it is too frightening. This is another mystery: if I don’t really exist, do you? The only way we dissolve this fear is through loving, through the unification that comes with love. Like the ice that melted in the glass. (You didn't really do that, did you?)
So we watch the clock and watch each other, each day we live our quotidian lives, the daily grind, we go to sleep swathed in our selfhood, saying goodnight to the mirrors, bathed in the smoke of illusion. But believe me these smoke and mirrors are not easily revealed as such, not so easily repudiated.
How entrenched is this illusion?
NEXT -->