Saturday, 27 December 2008
In Life Without Meaning, Goals Seem to Arise.
It is only in parables that I can communicate. It is only in parables that life unfolds. It's so clear, so very obvious, that what is is simply a reflection, a parable for what truly is. Once in awhile, or so it seems, I'm lying in bed and the overrated mind grasps a little of what all this means, of what the absolute is. I understand, just for a moment, what nothingness is, the mind sees something like birth in space, no space, no time, nothing, and it is thrilling beyond compare, the reality to the mind of nothingness. This is what is labeled God, this is what the "glimpses" of the absolute are, the mind almost grasping for an apparent milisecond the absence of everything. There is nothing, there is nothing. Most minds run a mile. It makes a nonsense of all the struggle, all the pursuit of joy, all the avoidance of pain, all the fraught seeking to make this life work and help others and rationalise our failures or despair over them. There is nothing and no one, and all this appearance, the hologram of life, illusory and dreamlike, appears as the perfect reflection of its source, which is the only thing, which defies description, which encompasses All and is All and is nothing. Words jig tiny circles far removed from the absolute. Even the loftiest words, even the greatest literature, cannot come close to the exquisite ineffable reality that is what is. They make the story so rich and fascinating, but even the most actualised and successful life is the merest whisper of what truly is. The goals are meaningless, yet they arise, perfection itself in their mere apparent existence. Walking down the pavement, pondering what to do, it is possible that something drops away and the pondering itself and the feelings that arise and the footfalls on the concrete, each seemingly brand new, as never "before" or ever "after": those simple things are the miracle, the wholeness, the sweetness of being. It is admittedly difficult to see, for the story in time as interpreted by the mind in a string of cause and effect to be the "real world" is reinforced by nearly everything that seems to exist. But seen it is.