The other day my consciousness moved deeper than I have perceived before. I saw that it didn't really matter what happened to me as and individual, or to anyone or anything, because at the base of who I am I am not anyone or anything at all. This is how I felt, if I can say that I felt it, at the time. Now I wonder if both I am and I am not. At the time it appeared that who I am is something temporarily arising. I saw that the whole sensation of being was temporary and without any eternal form. I saw being as something inside of something else. I felt that all of my drives and ambitions were temporary and that I wasn't myself at all. I wasn't who I thought I was, I wasn't anyone really.
Who I thought I was was someone or something permanent. I thought I was the center of the universe, or connected to something real. I thought that what I knew was everything. And I realized that being had a limit. Where I was joy was no different than suffering. I was not I. I was a temporary form and it had nothing to do with me because I didn't really exist at all. I wasn't separate from life, I just wasn't anything. All of life seemed like a shell. A shell that I didn't arise out of or transcend, a shell that held me and outside of it there wasn't me.
It was a true end of personhood and being. An end not seen before. The self is afraid of this because it sees it as death. It cannot be there, it is not there. This place is where there is no self. It is off the edge of a map. The self tries to sustain life and joy because it is afraid of oblivion. As long as it is afraid of oblivion, it will not be fulfilled. Accepting oblivion truly is the end of the self. At least partially. The self occupies its space in the kosmos like a tree occupies its proper space in a field. It has its trunk coming off the ground extending into branches and leaves that fill the sky, along with roots that dig into the earth. But beyond this, it is dirt, grass, air worms and birds. This is the same with being. It is the tree. It has its place, but it is only one of many things that exist outside of it and are clearly not it. These things have completely different natures. nature's we may not be able to describe. I thought this tree was my heart, but when the air was felt and the birds were heard I felt that I was in fact heartless.
The life of the tree was the heart of my whole universe. Life always exists in this universe. But this was not life and in not being life, life was not everything. And if life is only 1 grain of sand then it is not the heart of the universe, it is merely an aspect of an infinite universe. I saw "my life" and all life as one grain of sand, one moment of change, in a sea of something else. A sea that is not being.
It is not necessarily void. It makes sense if you think about it. Do you really think that the universe is limited to being? The universe is not limited to anything. Sense moves beyond I and being.
It makes you wonder if life is what we really think it is. Is being really what we think it is. This outside of being lies within the heart of life. Perhaps being is not at all. Perhaps there is no being. Everything we think we are experiencing personally may be an illusion. I think it is. I think it's the fact that we are personally experiencing it which makes us inherently blind to objective truth. It may be this blindness that is necessary for being to exist at all. Perhaps being is real, but only in the veil of ignorance.
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