Between the water table and this spring-fed pool is the world of maya. Like atman is brahman.
In this metaphor, the earth of maya is simply conceptual and the water is indivisible pure being.
All words are metaphorical to some degree. A rose is a rose in as much as the word points to the mystery of consciousness called a rose.
Even the word, awareness, is a metaphor for that substrate of nonconceptual awareness, that that which can’t be named.
Pointing at the moon howling I am that reflection of awareness as the black whole is swallowing the sun of self-awareness—that's lakshana. It's no neti-neti.
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