It began with the silver waves and pulsating forests, when I learned that our minutest atoms mimic the universe, that nothing ever is static, that time bends upon itself. You never step in the same river twice. My interior monologues are just clouds and mists crossing an ever-blue sky. Or the velvet mahogany library – we’re all made of the same stuff. We are stardust. Recycled. Memories must be held in that, just as the pyramid wind carries tiny particles of everything it’s stroked past. Invisible purple webs crisscrossing the entire planet and outward, tremulous nebula fibers that extend beyond into milky way worlds. Even time, the straight ruler upon which we base our lives, exists just as a convenient truth. Behind it all, a shimmering heartbeat echoes undetected and silent. It doesn’t ask to be heard. We are constantly touching the million infinite stars. Everything is ecstasy, inside…

All summed up in those four words ?

The Critique of Pure Reason.

You’re supposed to watch your own mind, internal emotions, thoughts and feelings, as a third person. Jealousy, annoyance, fear, anger, elation – all constructs of the mind. Fake. “You are not your mind”, because you are nothing at all because you are everything at once. There is no “I”.

But here’s a problem – we live that “I” every day. Detaching from it is helpful in times of pain but in times of happiness why put it in a corner. It grants patience and compassion when you need it, but sometimes it feels like a convenient tool of detachment.

How can we be so serious with the world when the world itself is so ridiculous?

“Mushin” – the Zen art of giving the simplest activities profound meaning. By all means yield to the present, to the Tao, the immediacy of the senses, but don’t become another type of slave, transferred from robotic rituals of lack of thought to an even more dangerous lack of thought – that which feels no necessity to think.

Maybe it’s about clarity – about learning how to silence that voice, for a while at a time, to see the world purer, sharper, without preconceptions or judgments. Unlearning. But still seeing. The mind is a window, not a mirror.

How can we be masters of our own fate if all that will happen has already happened and is happening right now, a ghost twin of the present but one step ahead? McTaggart’s B theorists, tenseless time, brane cosmology. All those strings. I struggle to understand.

Quote:

“A Dionysian world of the eternally self-creating, the eternally self-destroying, this mystery world of the twofold voluptuous delight, my “beyond good and evil,” without goal, unless the joy of the circle is itself a goal.”