Friday, January 9, 2015

Skin



I like to use the word skin.

It has not yet been proven to my mind, if skin is simply jumbled tiny vibrations, harmonies, atomic glues, pulsing, spinning energies, actually observable at some point, or the cosmic thought of God slipping ever into the unknowable before us.

But, it is skin.
 

I do not mean epidermis. Nor do I mean Skein unraveling or mathematical.
 

Not veil, or mist, curtain, or crust. I mean the skin between any one thing and another. Anything that can be considered is a thing unto itself. Any thought or thing has a skin which makes it not another thing.
This concept will eventually absolutely negate Heaven.

But for now it is just a large portion of that insanity which is the impossible nature of all things.
 

If the doubter in this is correct, the boundary between things is no absolute, and my argument fades into others, wherein at that point they might agree.

Together in the mist of things we can merge the solidity of my need, with the unsurety of the freedom of doubt.

All things that are anything exist beyond the boundary of that which they are not. This boundary, encompassing, holds ideas, action, to be, has been, will be, and what not. This source within has not to be, isn't, can't and won't to any other thing in time. Yet, merged in substance is one and all the same thing with the universe.

In short, you are a monkey. I can hand you a banana. I can pick the fleas from your shoulder and pat your head. I am a monkey.

Together we can pull the worm from the dirt, examine, lip it, toss it away. We might even eat it if we're hungry. But we cannot explain the sight of the sun. We have not the words. It has not the construct. And yet, it knows the things of the roots of being. It will perish. We will perish.
 

Non Unilinear Consciousness

The concept of reincarnation has always seemed a bit naive to me. If we create the soul, and from that creation free it to wander from body to body, why, then, how then, could we wrap it back into slavery, stuff it into the calendar or clock. It has escaped. How can we then re-contain it into a unilinear prison.

Let's say we have successfully created the soul. For a minute beg the question. Let the believer follow that belief to its holy conclusion. The soul is free.

Are not our bodies the vessels through time that stick to clay and slip through dust, through air and sound, feelings, experiences and the other aspects of mechanical existence? What does the soul then do?
 

The brain feels. The brain perceives, needs, drives us to procreate, to hold our loved ones, to seek joy and push through pain. The brain is observable. The brain is miraculous. The brain is a miracle.

My car needs new tires. If I don't get new tires , the old, worn ones will fail. My car will crash into a tree. The tree, through no fault of its own, will puncture my skin and drain my blood, crush my bones, smash my organs and kill my brain. This is reality. My brain needs my heart to pump oxygen into it.

This is the tether of sanity, mundanity, a gift from the impossible God.

So my delusion, which in instinctive faith I know as the absolute truth, is that everything...is one thing.

This is physics.

This is spiritual.

There is no division.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, because others are you in a different place at the same time.

You...

meet yourself.

Yourself...
meet you.

I cannot explain it any more than anyone can explain anything else.

Trust your instincts.

The sad fact is that when you die, you will not be you ever again. But you will always be you when you are being you. And that is always where it is. But only part of you is God. And that likes to jump around. But it constantly returns to now.

The moral.
Be nice. Be responsible. Behave.


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