Mind soup for lunch

On rainy days such as this one, I try to guess the substance our minds float in. Are part of. Much like a fish would define water.

Right now, many concepts are cluttered in my brain, because where do you start such an article? May I rely on previous texts for you to understand me? Is it important that this is understood? Can I not merely express the confusion that arises from this seemingly pointless act? And you: do you think linearly? In circles? Concentrically? Haphazardly?

Let’s assume that it is in the nature of the mind to explore itself. That I’m merely following my nature here. I am making an attempt to stretch my mind beyond what I’d call ‘me’, into something more meaningful. I am searching for the word to describe the dense, slowly revolving motion of magma inside the earth’s core, as it unfolds right here. Around my mind. Where does it end? Or, worse: where does it start? Is there a story about it that can make me feel good? Probably, but I’m not looking for that.

Even though I despise dualism as an even remotely accurate description of reality, I don’t mind to consider, sometimes that there are two main frameworks trough which us Westerners understand things.

On the one side, there is the atom, the brick, the ego. The little material pieces which we are all built from. The tangible, measurable, the word, the description, the thought. Little packages of energy that, together, form us, our societies and our minds. From this perspective, my mind is no more than a channeled sequence of individual thoughts, juxtaposed in a way that suggests they make sense.

Then there is the vision that we are not built of little bricks or energy packages,  but that we are more fluid, wave-like, spirit creatures. That we are the result of an amazingly complex resonance of invisible strings, shaking itself and its surroundings as a cosmic orchestra would. That we exist merely for as long as we remain in motion; moving, inspiring and amplifying others as much as ourselves. In that perspective, the very act of writing this down is just a vibration between my mind and this paper here, which now seems so close, and yet infinitely far away. Mind is then merely a frequency that resonates and adapts with those around. As such present, perhaps, in everything. Like light.

Be that as it may, both of these visions of the cosmos rely on the idea that we are ultimately made out of absolutely nothing. That would make the whole act of my mind asking itself what it is an illusion. Maya. This entire story would be non-existent, the room I’m in not here. Such thought raises the question: if all of this is an illusion, then what is an illusion? Except for all of this, of course. If everything is just vibration, why doesn’t it sometimes stop vibrating? If nothing holds all the pieces together, could it also stop doing so? How would that taste?

Here’s where it’s better to let go of these clearly narrow-minded theories altogether. We simply cannot prove the fact that we exist by proving the fact that we don’t exist, because that would mean we don’t exist. And clearly: we do. And we did, and we will. Yet it remains in my mind’s nature to wonder how far it can stretch.

If a black hole sucks up all light, would it we able to see itself in the mirror? It would be blinded by the light of the universe, shining upon it from all directions. Is there something my mind sucks up that prevents it from seeing itself? Or has there simply been no mirror around?

The rain has stopped. I can go out and about, to look for whatever it is I intend to find there. Vegan food. Setting steps on an earth that may or may not exist within and or outside of my mind. Or something else, that is. Or not.

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