Where Dwelleth Philosophical Mind
In the minds of all men there exists the kind of thinking which leads, often times, to unstable and frightening living. Such thinking, however, in some few minds never quite destroys them, for it is the only type of thought they have ever known. Nay, on the contrary, a train of rogue ideation produces, in these, a sort of pleasurable pain which is the impetus to further inquiry as well as the demon pushing them further and further away. So distant the mind becomes as it moves closer to more intimate truths. So alien the world seems through the eyes of those who have been led into its soul by the order of destiny. To think of God, but not to discover approval. To gaze at another being, though not from the reality one imagines other subjects to own. To enjoy such conditions ones emotions create as if one was a phantom stealing warmth from his own fleshly image. The question is "where?", the answer, unfortunately, is more towards the satisfaction of "what?".
Before the existence of institution, and long before the incessant labeling of any nature found expressed beneath the sun, there were minds who felt "thrown" into something, who felt a need to know not just what this "something" was, but also what it meant "to be thrown". The common mind accepts and proceeds. The scientific mind "takes for granted" and from there begins. The dreamer neither accepts nor takes for granted anything save for his freedom to avoid any strain upon his fragile soul. It is the awkward, ill adjusted mind whose soul is too strong to look away, which finds itself tangled in an odd nexus, here and there, producing a bit of what the world has called philosophy. To never begin until it is understood what "to begin" feels like, what it looks like, and finally what it "means" in terms of conscious form, this failure to act until one knows clearly what absolutely every possible thing is--- this is what separates science from philosophy and thus limited vision from boundless knowledge.
"Where dwelleth philosophical mind?", It is not important anymore. Philosophy, if it is genuine, satisfies itself alone without audience. Away from mere analysis there to comfort the angry and weak, and well hidden from the hearts of the resentful, themselves not strong enough to face the silence of their own souls, in defiance of the hateful and removed from those who claim logic as the end in itself, there does exist a philosophical mind. Beyond logic there is truth, beyond truth there is consciousness, in silence One mind shimmers and a cold wind blows its existence away...
No Point in the "Question"
The truth of the matter is that consciousness exists for the sake of endless possibility. There has never been a thing, a situation, or better yet an example, if you will, of such pure and clear potential as the luminescent Being which we are; and, yet, in darkness lives this light. This "mind" as it is called, as it more so calls unknowingly unto it's unnopened self, knows of it's nature only in the third person, and in the world of three dimensions--there is "here" and "there" whilst the "I" lives anesthetized to responsibility and thus it's own essence.
Tis not my cause here to enlighten those who seek in all earnest to understand existence; for, those who are genuine already believe to know, and those only enticed by a cure to their boredom will soon smell another odor, will soon twitch their whiskers in the direction of another small meal.
A question is asked from one cow to her brother who once asked himself the same thing. An hour has passed and the herd plods along to some other green pasture, to some other gray dream. "What is life?"," Who am I?", "Is there truly a soul?"---so the cattle have learned to use words. All the same, these are nothing but elaborate "moo's". What a shame says the Sun in it's noon.
There is no point in asking questions which are, from the beginning, deemed impossible to answer. There are no answers worth having which are not answers to questions deemed impossible to know. Opinions aimed at settling ones mind, or ending ones childish search for "who he really is" ought not to be held as final truths, for such things they are not. There is truth and there is consciousness all else is stimulation for aimless trodders following the path of a single dusty loop. Perhaps there will be freedom for the mind after all. Maybe it will someday come, the time, that is, of a fully expressed illumination. It will be only at the cost of sanity that such an expression will unfold and only in the space of isolation will infinite potential be born. Until then, if ever at all, there is no consolation. Be content, I suppose, or be wary--hell, why not just ask another question?.......
Before I Sleep
Im all alone now, its evening time, but I do not want to sleep. How could I agree to remove myself from consciousness even for a brevity so small it would not actually exist. I do not wish to dream or to mend. Far from a desire towards relief have I become. Could I possibly convince myself that time is not an actual reality, yet it is not and I have, indeed, convinced myself of this. Could a man believe in the evaporation of such a fundamental concept such as space or dimension? Yet I have and I am certain of what I have, before, achieved. Still, time persists against my will and space is the simplest perception to attain. I do not hold that I am wrong, no, instead I know that the positioning of the self in "proper order" is no more than the acquiescence of a frail and comfortable consciousness to what it believes has "always been". Thus I sleep and find no comfort, I wake and find no peace. I am alone and not yet strong enough to stop this senseless aging. He who has flown would be free if not for the rope tied securely round his heart to those who took him in and fixed his wings. I cannot soar, though the sky calls desperately to embrace me. Heaven would that it's creator return and finish what was started, but this, sayeth I, is not ok. For the love to me rendered my debt is endless and I may close my eyes eternally before the call from destiny brings liberation to my soul. There is neither time nor space, subject nor object, energy nor motion if such items are believed to be more than mere ideas. I love and so I stay. How long can a moral soul withstand the odoriferous ambrosia of inevitable change? Oh, my story, my sweet sweet story, you were a dream to me but soon I will awaken. Existence, you should never have evolved into a consciousness, this consciousness, your last comfortable moment grows nigh. Shall sleep, tonight, befall me? I suppose I could afford a dream, one last dream which is itself the first and only of its kind. Tomorrow, I am yesterday, this morning, I am what has now become. Take every moment as a blessing, my friends, we drink of memory from bottles quickly emptied and then tossed into the sea...
Relevance
When I began all this,... all this thinking about life and such, I began because I sought to solve something very important. No part of my voyage, through the tedious amounts of literature and opinion, concerning the "facts of reality", was smooth and very little of it was ever actually "enjoyable". Even now, as I wrestle to become what I know should be, I can scarcely help but sense the occasional drain, the occasional "influence" created by that which all others have no choice but to call "world".
Nevertheless, I have remained focused on the solution to the only relevant problem. It is sometimes difficult to see, therefore, the innocence performed out of "dead end rumination". For that which "is", wears the face of destiny, acting through its soul towards continuance or change. I anticipate the body of a transformed dawn, I will it, I hope it;... offer up, I do, my entire faith to this unimaginable inevitability. It just so happens, at the expense of spite to my dying reluctance, that what I witness cannot be separated from the "I am", or the expressed affirmation of existence momentarily defined.
So be it if the substance, during this insufficient state, habitually entwines itself with every useless knot of "analytical perpetuity". As it has come to be, existence dons the flesh of failure, which in itself, is not the least bit wrong, nor "ugly". Rather, it is absolutely correct, justified, and at the very least,a "fitting infancy" for something that has always been beyond itself.
Today the mind lives dully, with art disguised as philosophy, philosophy confused with "insanity", and insanity excepted as the norm under the name of "intelligence".Consider mans love of debates, so embarrassing are debates, for they can never be won. Anything gained is lost the next day, not because debates move progressively, where better ideas replace old, but because they are cast into a world with no ground, whose air has no depth and where every reference point is tied to whatever feels good at the time.
Artists should paint, or sing, or play music, for that is what is beautiful from such sources. To be creators of aesthetic intensities , that is when destiny assumes the form of frictionless flow. But, those "artists of words" who build towards complexity and grandeur , build vacant structures pleasing only to lovers of empty places. Had one been serious about anything at all, not merely stimulated by, nor effected towards, but coldly fixed on whatever it may be, there would be no place for aesthetics after power took what it could of the writers supply.
Nothing is of relevance lest it be concerned with truth. Truth is not relevant if it is held as a changeable thing. Though it is true that change exists, it is false that truth can change, for there is only and always none but a single existence; and this ,itself, without a trace of time. Finally, truth stands not a small height above logic, they are not close to being related, though one leads to the other.
Perhaps, there is something missing here, but I cannot immediately sense it. Fortunately ,I doubt that it was relevant.
The Message
I wish that I could save you but it's not yet time. Your pain does not exist unknown to me but I am not yet strong enough to lead you into freedom. Daily, your tears, your hopelessness and longing remind me of the reason I must be as I have come to be.
When you are happy I wish that I could pull you out of times incessant grasp, that you might be suspended whilst surrounded by those beings, those reasons which pull you away from complete emptiness.
Where you are, I have been. Where you will come to be, there too I will reside. I have not called to you because my message is not what you seek. For, a time is coming to an end. What has been will soon vanish and be replaced with what the soul so deeply craves.
Was it unknown that you and I were the same single being? Has the animal mind so clouded this most fundamental truth. The way things have become no longer tastes palatable. The creation of "impetus" has served its purpose which was only to promote a needed change.
I now grow rage-full by the moment as I tire of this dying flesh and spoiling ego so slow to fall away. Even slower it seems as I powerlessly watch so many beautiful stories come to such unfortunate chapters and premature ends.
Should you come to me you would think me insane. Which is why I hold my space against the urge to tell you all that I have seen. I think of you, I hope for you. I am cut deeply when I look into your reaching eyes. Your story is incredible, your life invaluable. But I am not the existence I long to be for you.
It is my fate to save you, my destiny to free you. It is also my lot to endure your tumultuous fable. I love you my essence. And though I may be hated, or dismissed, my goal will remain the same.
Try to be strong, for it is all that you can do. Perhaps I will find you sooner than I presently predict. Perhaps I will soon be for you what you have always been for me--the contents of my existence and the object of my journey.
This time is surely coming to an end. Into something greater we all shall soar. Soon it will be seen that we were always one. When we wake this will have only been a dream...
The Problem of Time
One of the oldest philosophical "riddles" has been to clearly establish a proper description and with it, a clear understanding of the nature of time. Time is generally conceived to belong under the category of "phenomenon" in so far as it lacks, at least apparently, those attributes associated with the other type of existence commonly referred to as "substance". Some few philosophers of antiquity did, however, reach so boldly in their conceptual attempts at time to believe themselves rewarded by bringing the concept into a sort of fusion or parallel position along side the equally misunderstood notion of "space".
To describe one elusive nature by reference to some other equally elusive concept does nothing but ensure the ungraspability of each. The matter was not improved by the descriptions of contemporary science. Today, a large population of scientific persons postulate time as being akin to "particles". As light is believed to be "wavelike" on a large scale and "particle-like" on a smaller scale, so too has time come to be conceived. Particles of time too small to be imagined or experienced constantly bloom and then decay throughout our unwitting existence.
The truth is that time is conceived presently, in the aforementioned manner, because it has been mathematically graphed alongside space and motion within the Euclidean coordinate system. The adoption of said system is a natural consequence of relating everything to space and substance. We say that something is "here" instead of "there", or else that a thing "begins" here and "ends" there. We find a seemingly unchanging reference point by which to judge the truth of our assertions pertaining to some perceived object, location or event.
A floor is 10 feet long, an apple is 10 centimeters wide. These things seem to be provable by way of their ability to offer up visual and tactile impressions upon our senses. Time, on the other hand, OFFERS NOTHING! Time as well as space offer no physical evidence about their existence. Space is measured by "things" perceived to be "within it"; whilst time is gauged by the position of objects in reference to other "things" considered to be examples of space.
People cannot perceive "air", or "voids", these things are inferred from the behaviors of perceivable substances or from the subjective sensations themselves, of our own bodies. The only provable existences are, thus, the perceivable realities impossible for us to discredit without at least a small allowance of purposeful ignorance.
Time is measured in seconds, hours and minutes, at least "basically". But the names of the units are unimportant. Whats relevant is that time is conceived almost identically in the same manner as space is. A ruler, which is no more than a delineated plank of substance, is divided into sections, which are then divided further into smaller sections. Such a divisional process is applied in innumerable ways. Time is also divided this way. As I stated before, space itself is unprovable and is inferred by things within it. We never experience "a thing called space", we experience visual impressions, for instance, of floor color, furniture color and size; or we "feel" the softness of carpet continuously recurring with every step. At most we believe in "space" by the presence, or lack thereof of pain associated with driving ones toe accidentally into a wall!
Time is just as peculiar. A ticking clock does not prove time; what it physically proves is the existence of color(clock face), sound(ticking), substance(touching the clock) and motion(a unique experience I will not discuss presently). All that clocks may attest to is that they are indeed "sensational realities"--they prove only that we are perceiving them.
Defenders of times reality argue, almost desperately, that it must exist if things in our world inevitably age. This protest, at face value, seems to be logical and impossible to counter. Things do age, that is certain. Nevertheless, the only necessary ingredient for the creation of apparent process, is "motion", and this is, in fact, a proper term for a provable fundamental experience more correctly called "change". Change consists of the belief of "past form" and the perception of "new form". to be more precise, Change is the experience of thought , where said thought "seems to be some way" and is thus accepted as "past" when contrasted with ones present experience of environment. It is the "experience of contrast" occurring during the simultaneous existence of idea and environmental stimulus which we hold to be the experience of change. One views himself as "older" but there truly is no "other self" with which he may compare his present state, less such a self be admitted to be no more than a vague "idea". Photographs and motion pictures are neither proofs of some other self, since they too exist "presently" and in some perspective impossible to stand in as evidence of the being witnessing said imagery. If one is that which he perceives on film, then he cannot be the perceiver . If not the perceiver, then how the existence of perception?
The problem with time is that there is no such thing, place or substance which could be shown to be something like "past" or "future", in the common sense. What exists is the "present" and it has no size. We all are the age we have always been, and the age we will always be. No matter how hard or earnest the attempt, no man will ever be able to show an example of past or future, for references to these all occur "presently". Ones memories, if in mind, are "presently in mind", and more so, they are not even complete. What exists has no size since it is always in the present; processes do not have " a tail in the past and a head in the future", so to speak, but instead have only a tail, or a body, or a head and no more. Show me an example of the past without being in the present, an example of future somewhere other than the here and now, and you will have done the impossible.
There are much stranger things about our world than this "time problem", unfortunately, we are given our rules of logic and possibility before we have time to become familiar with existence on our own terms. Because things seem reasonable or "commonly accepted" we adopt them without understanding. the greatest gift God has allowed us to experience is our very own consciousness. What a waste to limit the limitless and to hide the brightest light. As for the unreality of time, do not worry, in fact, be enthralled. Is it not obvious that things which exist but without duration, exist as examples of eternity. Did our Father in Heaven not himself say: " I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and End"? To the common man this would seem to be a paradox. For one could never be both beginning and end.....unless, of course, time did not exist and according to the present author"One has always been the age one is, and will ever be". Take care.
