The only way leads through unrestraint because only that can open the door to any challenge out there.
Self... used to be my identity: the breathing existence of a tangled mass of thoughts, silenced being in the roar, a self-defeating fear, a miniscule stary fraction, dust floating in the air, something so familiar that it became mystification... Did it form in emptiness, or was it nought in space?
Now... in a kind of peculiar vegetative state, in the interspace, in the intertime, Self is gone... and there has arisen a haunting question, What is Self? What on earth is it in essence? Self is beyond itself, Self has ceased being itself, if it ever existed at all ‒ thus, is Self a mere concept, a construct serving our own urge for egoism; is my Self truly identical to your Self, with our Selves in the sphere of the absolute ‒ and ‒ can it be unique in the relative world only? Self has become meaningless, is nought, since God knows what it is.
The inner entity has come to dwell within me ‒ effortlessly, as if it was part of me from time immemorial, being both all-embracing and itself exceeded by all, all-enduring, ever-lasting, constant, unshatterably certain and calm. I am a soul, as if I had no body, was no-body, could be anywhere, anytime, and yet remain changeless.
While Self used to be represented by run-aways, now my being is interpenetrated with a higher power, as if transformed into a kind of alter ego; everything and everybody that my eyes are set upon, all is focused upon and seen through, for fear has vanished... As if Self has entered another dimension. Boundaries are nonexistent, this is getting to the core of things.
If Self is not, what is left? Consciousness? Consciousness of what? Of that all is limitless? How can I be a victim if I respect no limits? Limits created by my mind out of fear of infinity... and the mind identifies itself with Self.
If my life has been like reaching the end of a tunnel, whereat there is nothing but a wall, against which I am hammering and can only reverse..., then I can no longer grow, I have no freedom anymore. But, I need to grow and expand within ‒ I cannot get arrested, become a bogus, turn into a shadow...
All that is onging will continue. All the people will keep on passing through my life as until now. My feet will step onto familiar ground a hundred times and my mind will get lost in unknown places many times more. Even fear will come, and fear cannot be discarded nor eliminated, but ‒ just as anything else unfavorable and unwanted ‒ it can be accepted as something that creates balance; it can interpenetrate me, just passing through and out of me, leaving me unchanged. There is no need to suffer from it ‒ I can go through fire, I may be in pain, it may be uneasy, but I can do it without being burnt, and that will be it.
Given all that has ever flashed through my life, only that which prevails, that which withstands all changes is of merit.
I can always escape into solitude, possibly craving for being the only living thing in the boundless horizons, only if I am certain that all these walls that devide me from the embodiment of my pier ‒ another human being, my precious one, a strenghening bond ‒ can be torn down anytime. Will I be able to gain strength unsupported one day?
Now... I fear not, even though I cannot be more open...
Break free from Self. Break down the wall. Let things pass through you and go. Become a constant authority. You need no crutches that will not support you, no strange faces that will overlook you, no inner heat that will burn you. Just be and stay in wisdom.
All the weakness, the pettiness of labor, the pain... all of it has led me as far as here, to the other side, and had me seeking deliverance.
Power, power, power... There is no Self... no restrictions... no victimization... There is just creativity... like the passing of time and the beating of my heart... I can but be a life, I am a life, not an arrested existence that is just growing old, but a life that has no end.
I cannot be any Self unless I know what that is. All is just the substance... immaterial and prevailing. What a strange feeling it is, even head-spinning, roving the stars...
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