And who am I?
Just a character drifting through others’ dreams.
What am I?
Really.
A pattern of thought held in a bone case.
A circular waveform, round and round.
Thinking it’s looking for something
but really just having fun swirling around
in an environment that allows swirling.
No swirling, no waveform, no pattern,
no thought, no character, no drama,
no world, no garden, no fantasy.
But swirling allowed and hence this show that I witness.
Thank you God-thing for that.
And why does this pattern hold together?
Because this assembly of electricity in the bone orb insists?
What if the assembly really gave up?
What if the assembly never assembled?
This pen, this page, this hand, this habit,
all assembling the thoughts that don’t even need to be here.
What a confession that is.
The most insignificant man in the world.
The Last Man in Europe.
The Last Man.
1984.
Burning down all meaning.
What would it take for that?
Just the flicker of a thought.
Just an un-thought.
So simple.
No thing matters.
Every thing matters.
So grateful just to witness and even say those phrases.
The blessing, if there ever is one, is to have awareness
to notice it all and the intellect to debate it.
To know, and to know that knowing reveals not much
but all that’s here and nothing more.
None of the spin.
None of the narratives spun out in search of crisis-solution-product.
Plato’s wall and its hardness.
Wild party with occasional weirdness.
What more to be found in this hall of mirrors?
What’s to see with these eyes?
Awaken, pattern man.