Cosmic Meditation

I was just adding some entries on my list of ideas and I feel like it's time to move on to what's next. Indeed, many times I have pledged to a goal and failed. The long chain of failures seemed to have broken me forever, yet I still remain here, wishing nothing more than to continue on this fool's pursuit.

Whats the use of making a list of things I'll never write? Let's try to give it shot, without showing anyone. Let's do it for myself again. That's what I meant when I said that my failures are my own. Your failures are uniquely your own indeed, especially when they are made on your own true path. 

If there is something we all hate without collectively and unconsciously, it is the act of knowing. Those who are in the deepest of slumber seem to be the most blind to this. They seem so desperate to know anything, clinging tightly to whatever is caught within their grasp. Those who have known much, the seekers who have become the finders, they know the true terror of knowing. The emptiness of the never ending abyss. The boredom at the heart of peaceful bliss.

Indeed, perhaps that's why we purposely forget what we want to do. We stray from our path and forget all about it. Some of us are so horrified of the dark that we plunge into this world with all our being. Sick of the black formless night we want for nothing else but absolute reality. Bored to death with the ultimate freedom, we strip our beings of all awareness. Then, is it true that being is the ultimate extreme of experiencing form? That does make sense in many ways, but isn't that where we just came from?

In this context, formlessness is the world of spirits, where thoughts become reality and the world is fluid like water. The dreamstate is the ultimate of formlessness. A rush of information, a flow of data, the great stream of consciousness. Then death is not what it seems. Perhaps that's how dimensions manifest themselves, perhaps that's what it means to be beyond time and space. 

The formless is also beyond time and space, but the almighty power of God seems to reign far above. The very foundation of existence, the canvas of all reality, the ultimate playground for all of creation. Both the form and the formless seems to exist within it. Bhrama is all it's glory.

At that level, it looks like nothingness. Coming down from it you feel a sense of power, of possibilities. The free reign of imagination. The world of dreams and wishes. Fears and nightmares. At first just mental constructs, disconnected from any weight, without any meaning. Cosmic entities that are relatively pure. Discernable yet detached, matteroffact and impersonal. The first level of formlessness. 

Feels just like the planets floating about in space. 

Then we come closer to the concrete. Away from the source. The dreams become more embuned with meaning. Things that were just like reflex, like spinnibg your phone on the table, or reaching out your hand and observing it. Slowly, they collide, bumping into each other, mixing, reacting, coming closer and going further away, evolving, escalating. 

Slowly but surely, the impersonal things that were set forth with simplicity, they start to form chains of cause and effect. Each force of nature starts to form it's own trajectory, finding it's own way, being true to it's own nature.

Their purity, disintegrating, corrupting, multiplying, complicating. The start to mutate and intermingle. The escalation leading to greater disparity. The impersonal becoming ever so slightly more invested.

As things start to multiply, collapse, rebirth, and perpetuate, certain types start to stick together. Repelled from their opposites, they find stability in mutual connections.

Slowly, yet ever so surely, the empty spaces start to stretch further and further, in longer chains of nothingness. The formless starts to stick together. Just the same, the dust formed from the release of power starts to become clouds, which become rocks, that smash together and light things on fire. The form goes from rudimentary toys to sophisticated systems. 

Whats next might not surprise you. How is that all stories start to sound the same after a while? That's the formless' pattern recognition. Just as the forms' very purpose is to be unpredictable, and it does deliver. An eternal dance, a flirtation, a sense of play. Drama, tension, friction, and climax. Edging each other on, sometime leading, sometimes following, other times hiding, seeking, disappearing, and just being. 

As things go on, they necessarily become more complicated. More complex, but not necessarily improved. Such is the process of progression. Sometimes creation, other times distruction. The forward march of the eternal being, in the shadow of eternal silence, is pulled and repelled by the formlessness in everywhich way. 

Every now and then, there comes the crossroads. We all have to play our parts. Not knowing the full picture, we struggle to decide. But if nothing else, we know what to avoid. All failures on the true road are your own, as it is between you and the allmighty. All failures on any other road, are paid for by the others. The success you encounter on the true road is not your own. But the false success you encounter gives you a sense of guilty pleasure.

Are we to enjoy whatever is our own? It isn't obvious to me in any way. Our destined failures give the deepest sense of satisfaction. The fruits of our labor when enjoyed by others yeild the highest form of purpose. It seems to me that the authenticity of the path is what provides all the value, not the ownership of experience.

Yet only by losing our way do we find the right one. So what exactly is to be done? The only answer I've ever found was to sit back and enjoy the ride. The only thing I've ever wanted to do was to dive in and embrace everything in store for me. Failure and success, pride and disgust, grief and joy, being and sleeping, hatred and love, connection and loneliness, all of them become toys for my amusement, characters in a play, a roller-coaster of emotions, a fight to the death.

The embrace of a lover that I long for feels so far away, so I grab the pillow in front of me and hold on for dear life. 

The heaviness of my life that makes me ache all over cannot be relieved by the light of eternal release, it exists because of it. As such when it comes to failures or darkness, fear or pain, death or despair, and the fatigue of suffering, it can only be a stepping stone to something else.

Whether you consider it your own when you feel out of control, or you consider it beyond you in terms of tyranny, whichever way brings you more comfort, you should abide by it. In harsh storms that pull the rug from under you, only to leave you stranded at sea, the best you can do is huncker down and hold on. Anything that lets you get through the night is your friend.

The night itself might seem like your enemy, but without this fiendish demon pulling you closer to death's door, you certainly wouldn't have any friends. Without the very real possibility of loss, you would never be able to win. So learn to love your failure, learn to hug your pain. Cry out in anger, go out ugly and undressed, let yourself deteriorate into a humiliated despicable crying mess, but never call out for death.

Cry for help, cry out in despair, fall into tge depths of hopelessness as you lose your way so badly that you can't tell up from down in the murky depths of the sea. And while you're down there, lonely, helpless, cold, and alone. Look forward to the next comeuppance. Look forward to the next defeat. But more than anything else, for God's sake, enjoy where you are, while it still lasts.