I close my eyes . . . what do I see? At first it's blackness. Then a moment of thoughtfulness. Images emerge. Some vivid images of peaceful spaces. Imagination plays with settings that seem to be the perfect essence of joy and fulfillment.
There is the edge of consciousness that seems hazy...peer there and something seems to emerge hazily. A flitting image. Observe. Stand still. I hear a robin to the left. I smell the scent of some wild mountain flower. A bee buzzes behind me. Warm light over-head shines down on my perception of this personage I call: me. The illusion is real, with breeze, gurgling brook faintly titillating in the background. The words rise and fall in my mind.
Grass sways, there are a million stimuli, and I sit . . . eyes closed, imagination creating, painting, creating.
I think in the saner moments of life, there is a whole lot of creativity emerging. I'm curiously peering into the knowledge divined by science as neuronal-networking . . . synapses . . . brilliant firings of axioms and receptors, and chemicals doing each there jobs.
It's okay not to understand. It's okay to feel the emotion of wonder, of excitement ... mind peering in on mind. What is this awareness that I call awareness? It's illusive formulas rising and collapsing. Partnerships of thoughts. Reminders. Places. People. Scenes...combining into the most intrinsic inner workings of my mind-sight. A sight ,by the way, which is totally a creation of my imagination. I think then that when I imagine suffering, when thoughts arise which create suffering; these are the images that might be just as unreal as the ones I imagine that I "see" in my mind's eye...this mindsight...that appears and disappears.
What is this thing that I call me? Is it old? Is it young, does it even have an age. All that seems real, seems so only at first glance, then it seem to all break down very quickly, and things sure don't feel very real, and likely not as real as I imagine.
Yes, wondering swirling thoughts. I now see. Now I don't see. Just a moment, folks. Don't think me crazy. The view of you and I as that which struggles to make sense of something so unhelpfully called "reality". What is real to me, may not be so to you or even to the next person peering-in on our worlds.
What seems fun to me is taking the plunge. It's always a new experience. The point being that experiences are made in this moment, and even the musings of mind are an experience in of themselves. I suppose that wondering, swirling thoughts are rightly self-described in their very descriptions.
Can I take a picture of thought? Make a drawing? An image? Dibner is inspiring. It's still transient; and this is the way it should be: plain illusive. That's what it all is at the end of the day. The exercise of thoughtfulness is in itself a journey of understanding and wisdom. If I could comprehend this all completely, I would cease to exist. . . . well that's what I think.
There is the edge of consciousness that seems hazy...peer there and something seems to emerge hazily. A flitting image. Observe. Stand still. I hear a robin to the left. I smell the scent of some wild mountain flower. A bee buzzes behind me. Warm light over-head shines down on my perception of this personage I call: me. The illusion is real, with breeze, gurgling brook faintly titillating in the background. The words rise and fall in my mind.
Grass sways, there are a million stimuli, and I sit . . . eyes closed, imagination creating, painting, creating.
I think in the saner moments of life, there is a whole lot of creativity emerging. I'm curiously peering into the knowledge divined by science as neuronal-networking . . . synapses . . . brilliant firings of axioms and receptors, and chemicals doing each there jobs.
It's okay not to understand. It's okay to feel the emotion of wonder, of excitement ... mind peering in on mind. What is this awareness that I call awareness? It's illusive formulas rising and collapsing. Partnerships of thoughts. Reminders. Places. People. Scenes...combining into the most intrinsic inner workings of my mind-sight. A sight ,by the way, which is totally a creation of my imagination. I think then that when I imagine suffering, when thoughts arise which create suffering; these are the images that might be just as unreal as the ones I imagine that I "see" in my mind's eye...this mindsight...that appears and disappears.
Yes, wondering swirling thoughts. I now see. Now I don't see. Just a moment, folks. Don't think me crazy. The view of you and I as that which struggles to make sense of something so unhelpfully called "reality". What is real to me, may not be so to you or even to the next person peering-in on our worlds.
What seems fun to me is taking the plunge. It's always a new experience. The point being that experiences are made in this moment, and even the musings of mind are an experience in of themselves. I suppose that wondering, swirling thoughts are rightly self-described in their very descriptions.
To contemplate:
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| by Jean Proulx Dibner |
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