LightnessSometimes text just flows from my head, at other times the spring of ideas seems to have dried up. Yet all is definitely still there, in the complicated fabric of my brain. Of course I could always repeat what I have said before, but this would not satisfy my own appetite for novelty.
Some have said that the brain isn’t actually what creates consciousness, but an apparatus to sieve out tiny aspects of the cosmic consciousness. Lots of sieves we have on this planet!
I’ve been teaching myself how to draw water. There are lots of things one could try to learn how to draw, and there probably isn’t enough time for all that. All the little beasts, plants and mushrooms evolution has produced on our planet, all the stones that have condensed out of magma and been transformed and eroded by the geological forces, water, in its endless configurations, and the stars of the skies.
One’s subjective existence can be a cruel place, no doubt about that. You may want something and even devise a plan, yet you can’t be quite sure of what you’ll get, especially if the object of your desire has a mind of its own. And what happens after failing? Is all wasted, is all lost? Perhaps it hasn’t got to be like that. One has still done something, and interacted with the outside world, following one’s own motivations, which is all one can do and what one needs to do to be alive. Memories are laid down in the brain, and if one acts carefully, it might be possible to create for oneself a muse. Perhaps, in the beginning, it is a muse of hatred and anger; but once the time comes to start riding a wave again, the muse might take up new qualities and turn into a source of delight. The wave might be doomed to collapse after a while, but new waves will come, and there can be no top without a bottom.
