Sometimes it seems to me that every sensation, every feeling, is a world in its own. A world that has its own gravitation, glory, restrictions and structures that may or may not be understandable. We of course often hold on, with great force, to a fixed image of ourselves and the world, but if you let go just a little, if you let your fears go and move along just a little…
Are you the same person when you are touched by something, as you are when frustration ties a knot in your stomach? Are you the same person when you spontaneously act generously, without expecting anything in return, as you are when you’re nagging and complaining you’re always the fool, giving so much and receiving so little?
Every day we see the same body, because most of the time we only look at it with earthly eyes. When we ‘see’, however, we see a different energetic entity every time, even though the body has a more or less fixed name and shape. Every one of us is a mixture, made of slosh and stardust, which will and can always change, and yet it also seems to have a certain basic taste mixed through it as well.
How many creatures have you already been? As many as I have? Probably. And is it really clear to you what it is we all, without exception, call ‘I’ – and thereby basically all have the same name? It’s more like ‘I’ is some kind of feeling, isn’t it? A kind of conscious realization, impossible to pin down. A sensation filled with colour and flavour, transparent, translucent, impossible to explain, impossible to put down in one or more sentences (or books).
Even if you could explain for a hundred years, each sentence would just bring up new questions. But isn’t it just great being a mystery, not to know? Wouldn’t it be great to let things open up and reveal themselves, by examining some small fears, by subverting them, getting rid of them, living through them, if possible. It creates space and lets the light come in. Like it might also be fun to jump over a wall, or maybe even walk right through it, to experience, to go beyond what you already know, or thought you knew. Why always repeat the same old thing? Why hold on to some little experience of ‘freedom’, already a long time ago? ‘I was sitting on a bench when suddenly… yada yada yada.’ Who cares? What’s here, right now, that’s what counts! Or is the clarity of bygones so appealing that it makes the present blurry?
Or might there be fear of things to come? Are you afraid to replace certain images, or to let them shatter and then not know what to do? Are you afraid not to fit in, not to get any approval? Are you afraid you will behave like a beast when you let go of what’s familiar, because you have wild desires, sometimes coming through in a dream or just during the day. You don’t want them, but they are there. Would it be useful to sometimes ‘lose control’, or is that what happens all the time? What do you think you are anyway? Can it be defined with your ‘spiritual’ knowledge? Can it be said in fine and wise words, which make it seem real – if you repeat them often enough.
Do you ever think of a different life? What would happen if you said ‘yes’ to your ‘no’, or ‘no’ to your ‘yes’? Do you ever think what would’ve become of you if you weren’t with him or her but with that other one…? Or maybe alone?
Take a chance and follow a lifeline, in thoughts or on paper… just to have a taste of it, to see what comes up in your gut, your heart, your mind. And isn’t there something else, something you want to forget or have forgotten? Aren’t there parts of yourself still waiting? So close, but unexplored, unknown…
Are you longing for freedom? Just feel what’s inside of you! Do you want to be saved? From what and why? Isn’t it just as fun to simply experience what’s there, whatever’s there, including denial, holding off, polishing up, obscuring, spiritualizing? Just to see and feel, all the way to the core? Experiencing all the fuzz, without wanting to get away from it? In all honesty acknowledging your foulness, your joy, your questions and everything else?
Fun, right, being a mystery?
Text Hans Laurentius; Translation Jan Joost Schouten