From early childhood, I was taught
to see my world as this conceptual array and what is more, I'm taught to see
myself in such a manner.
But who am I that's being taught
this way?
One who has been thoroughly so trained to see
oneself as storied and conceptual forgets—
and has identified with thought in
such a way that I've become this me, a set of thoughts which seems so
tentatively real,
methinks to think another thought a mile a
minute to identify with each.
It's like I'm just this base of
being or white light if you'll allow this metaphorical intrusion for a minute,
and each apparent thought is like a
passing colored cloud which filters this white light creating such a laser show
of raw emotion—
which is just our terminology for
light, white light, now filtered into colors we call sadness, anger, envy,
fear—
that I've become materially
imbalanced and go from filtered light to filtered light in high dramatic
fashion,
just a trapeze artist grabbing on
to each emotion for dear life.
I
haven't got the time to rediscover that the great unknown that can be known is
just the known that can't be named—and I am That.
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