It is the established beliefs of the conditioned, sculpted fiction and faux ideal of self-lamenting its own existence. Stillness is the beginning of freedom from time. The mind skims libraries of time seeking reflections of its own story. The structure in the belief of time is conditioning plus time. The libraries of time are filled with language. Answers are not in language, they are in the infinite beyond language. The method in which time unfolds is style, is genre. The writer temporarily becomes creator, sculptor, God.
Fiction is the reconstruction of time. The writer attempts to construct time. Characters are grounded in time. The loudness of its death begins the conscious description of its case. The case is not the case. The loudness of the novel begins and ends with time. Novels structure time. You are always already Falling Into Being.
This will not be the time based novel.
Meditation saves lives.
The mind: It wishes to survive, if only in a limited form as in relation to its past. The mind is too clever to reject Tolle and Yogananda outright. When the mind agrees in principle with the diagnosis of its own existence, it is willing to cede power for brushing off extinction. The ego agrees in principle if only as a Machiavellian tactic. They say the first error, the first identifications are with mind and form. If, say, what Buddhist and Hindu scriptures say is true, what then, is the roadblock to enlightenment? The mind asks. The mind begins to write the apocalypse of Spirit. The structuring and suturing of the event in accordance with story. First, there are only interpretations of language, time, and mind. Growing and endless thought patterns of suicide are so strong as to merit more concern than what I would like to allow. Some things are more difficult to write, if only for their perceived root in time and perceived pain. The mind identified state and its structures for traversing the world in between worlds of words and Being, is, well, chaotic.
The death of ego, the mind-identified mind, is a craving so strong it has become another thing to want endlessly. Death. There is resistance against interpretation, then acceptance of the worst, and rarely a measuring of good. There is a cognitive bias toward death. However, but, et cetera, switching gears against the current, there is no road. There is seemingly nothing. There’s transformation and pain. And there is growing presence of some measuring awareness of what is before and after created narratives. There has been great progress in catching errors in the mind’s programming, its conditioning. And the trick is to want nothing. Non-judgment, non-attachment, non-resistance to what is. And yet the mind has its programming. The mind cannot be enough. This hell cannot exist alone in isolation. There has to be more. The monks speak of realms that offer salvation. In the absence of Spirit, in the absence of Being, the belief there is absence is perhaps also delusion.
Follow the discoloration of the heart’s content. The idea born of minds ends in time. In between worlds of time, the efficiency of Being is lost by mind. Language does not exist. The structure does not exist. The infinity pools at the end of the horizon, the salvation time based ego waits for endlessly, do not exist. There is an event and there is a story. You cannot recognize god in fear, in a state of fear, in fragmentation. And here comes the basis for love: Spirit animates form, Spirit hails from the Source, recognition of Spirit in Other is love. Recognition. In a world of identities based on form, who speaks of essence, of Spirit animating form. The difference between writing of forms and writing about the essence of forms… In school, we questioned aspects of the narratives, yet not the validity of its authority.
How do you accelerate the ascension of human consciousness?
Fix the underlying fucking foundation for all human suffering and dysfunction: identification with fragmentations, fear of ego’s death.
Imagine one consciousness fragmented billions of times over and over and all those fragments living in fear. That is the world living in delusion, ego. Fragmentation of consciousness from individual to states to nations, operating and sustained fear and delusion; that is, the world.
Are you sitting at the watering hole of the infinite structure in play, sculpting stories?
Do you believe you are your mind?
Are you your thoughts?
Fragmentation is the delusion.
Not everything requires an essay.
I’ll find a way to write this more clearly.
The narrative of tribes, the narrative of nation states, their collective delusion. It is against all other fragmentations. How strongly tribes identify with their ideology is rooted in fear of extinction. One ego fragment, one tribe, one nation, is identified with their identity to the point of death. And how does collective ego and fragmentation become the endless cycles of history? The fragmentation of consciousness is literature, it is the narratives and scripts of the herd. The fragmentation of ONE (god) Consciousness becomes the basis. It is difference. The dimensions of its depth, its content… Source. Pain will transform the question, its purpose, its definition. Pain will make you reevaluate your perceptions of life. Pain transforms you.
I want to take a minute or two to write about the journey here. I had never thought I would be writing so “recklessly” about time, language, delusion and form. In childhood, I believed there would be salvation in language. There is no salvation in language, in time, in form. There is, however, in Cosmic Consciousness, astral consciousness, freedom from identifications. It is between delusion and God Consciousness.
Time is not essential. My mind is racing. Stopped. The specifity of language is not essential. Language is not essential. Time is not essential. (2). Language is not essential. (2).
Divide consciousness infinitely and this is God Consciousness in fragmentation. Divide Cosmic Consciousness infinitely. Language will not offer you salvation. Revolutionary literature is written on the streets of time like a run on sentence in heat. I see tracks of time. One sentient living non-thing, one sphere of light giving life, birth to creation, to Consciousness. I see energy connect and I see dialogues and context unfold as characters scream for Life. Divide and cut from the One of all Consciousness. The creation of thought is a god-level thing. A language was born.
Language begins with thought, then addiction to thought and language is born, and once you have language you have narratives. Narratives attach to Other narratives and housed in a larger structure within structures, the zip code of ideology as it were, and more. And warring zip codes, the street gangs of literary cliques quarreling about signifiers, mired in time, mired in language.
They want an infinite structure to deconstruct.