Trimming myself into the world

From the point of view of neurology, as soon as the baby begins to acquire motor skills and focus their eyes, their brain begins to trim. There are neural connections that cut themselves off. In that cutting off, we begin to bring our attention into this world; to be able to perceive things as separate and distinguish shapes, heights, duration, space, color. Without that trimming, everything that the organism can perceive would be perceived and nothing will be distinguished. So, there is a trimming that happens there, and part of that trimming of our neural system is what culture does with language.

Then, over that language, many things are programmed: llike belief systems, like agreements of what is good and what is bad, what is acceptable and what is not. And then over that series of values we build identities: democrat, republican, Argentinian, Mexican. From those we define our personal identity: “This is me,” “That’s not my family,” “I am not like that,” “I am like this.” But we don’t realize the layers of soil that we use to build that sense of self.

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The invisibility of the FOG

There’s a story about the arrival of Spanish ships to the New World. What the Indians saw first in the island of San Salvador was the small canoe you drop from the ship to get to shore. Because there is no port, they settle in the shore and send small rowboats. They were amazed by the workmanship of the row boat; the way that it was constructed was so strange, and the technology unknown to the natives. While commenting on the strangeness of that boat they overlooked the huge caravelle in the background. There was nothing in their worldview to point to that. This is a phenomenon often encountered in shamanic voyaging, where the thing that is huge and in your face you don’t see, because you’re looking at what is known. This is the Face Of God (FOG), which is right here on your face; always touching you. And you don’t see God because you see the illusion of the world. You create the idea of God as something remote. So you don’t see God, because God takes the shape of whatever is in front of you. Or that beast which is the Dreaming. You only see the dream, not the beast which is the Dreaming.

This language like a snakeskin

If I say “I am hungry,” the “I” which is hungry is a product of that language which differentiates between you and me. Isn’t it the case that when I say “I am hungry” that “I” in that context is different from the one that says “I am koyote” and from “I did not hear what you said”? Each I is a different entity, new each time it is uttered. Only the illusion of language supposes this I exists somewhere inside me and is saying and hearing things. The one that listens is also just a product of what is being said; what is being grasped. As the I who utters ceases, the I who listens ceases. Yet something remains. And what remains makes no distinction between the utterance and the listening and the reality, perhaps the difference exists only in the language which was discarded like a snakeskin.

Seek the center of your Self

Ultimately, there is beyond the center of centers, there, at the origin of your attention, beyond the sense of self, the origin of all you are. This is the God that creates the world that you perceive. This is the God that sustains the life of the one that says ”I Am”. This god within has been considered the greatest of heresies of all the religions that have made a world of worship, the have created a culture that sees them, and only them, as the true intermediaries between you and god. Their success, strength and wealth has depended on you believing that you are not god; that you are only a limited ego that is a suffering fool whose only possibility of happiness depends on the graces of an external, remote god, and whose only intermediary is the church.

In this unholy trinity, a tyranny of a remote father and a tyrannical mother, are placed the only source of redemption for a child that never grows. But the truth is that the Holy Father is you, not your ego, not your identity, not even your memories, but you—the one behind the curtains of perception. You are the true God, and this vessel of flesh and mind that contains the history of humanity, that contains all knowledge and experiences, that contains the good and the bad, that contains all the teachings, and all the words of all the masters is the true church.

The marriage between God and the church produces, outside of you, the kingdom of heaven—always new, always created, always reflecting the will of god. In this Kingdom outside, the world created anew, is a true reflection of the inner marriage between the true God and the true church. This union is the true wine of ecstasy that brings the satiation of our deepest aspirations. Those who would keep humanity enslaved will tell you that it is a great heresy to believe in this God within. And I tell you that you have nothing to believe. No belief is necessary. You have to approach this as a true scientist, a true explorer of the inner spaces, and seek for yourself the knowledge of your true essence, of that which is silence and infinite, of that which is true beyond all forms, beyond all time—the center of yourself.

Seek within your heart, not the emotional or physical heart, but the center of yourself. There, you will find it. Silent. Vastly infinitesimal. All knower. Creator. Maintainer. Destroyer of all worlds. Look for the god within. Commit the ultimate heresy, and make contact with your true self.

The watcher within

Every thought comes and goes. Every second of time comes and goes. Every aspiration comes and goes. Every lifetime I’ve had, it comes and goes. Every second of time, it comes and goes. Every flicker of time, it comes and goes. The watcher watches. And when I move, the watcher watches. When I dance, the watcher watches. When I love, the watcher watches. When I kill and consume the flesh of my enemy, the watcher watches. When I sin of hatred, the watcher watches. When I sin for love, the watcher watches. When I pray to God, the watcher watches. When I blaspheme against God, the watch watches. The watcher watches all the time, and it does not change. It does not move. The watcher watches. And the watcher inside me is what the five watchers perched on the Tree of Life, vulture like, beady eyes and the darkness within them, they watch the watcher within.

Soap bubbles, these worlds

When I dream, I like to see these worlds grow like tiny bubbles of soap. I like to see them color up and take on the shimmering lights and tentacles, to then explode into unnamable sentiments and feelings that I could almost name–if only I could remember the language of all.

I see the ones that are still here scramble away from me, swimming through the currents of air that flow into them. I try to touch them with my hands and I cannot. When I get close to one, it vanishes into the nothingness of illusion and memory. I know that just a few seconds before I was seeing those tiny universes made up of flimsy shells of dream stuff.

I can only remember them when I am asleep. I know that when I fully awake, they will give way to a shared reality in a solid world. Or in something that pretends to be a solid world but contains within it millions of little creatures and worlds that scramble away into remembrance and lost memories as I bring my hand close to the light and touch them.

Those little worlds floating around.

I find myself at the age of six, walking down a corridor in my grandmother’s house. I wake up before the sun rises and I stare at the ceiling. I watch the light of the morning dawn filter through the rooftop. I witness millions of tiny little worlds floating around, dancing with the sounds of birds and barking dogs, as crickets were just finishing their song and their life. I breathe in the air and though I do not see it, I know that these tiny little dots I see through the Sun beam rush to get into me, and I wonder how many worlds come into me and what happens to them. Do they die? Do they collide? Do they become? Do they not notice it? Do they become me? And if they become me, do they then wonder what happens to all of those little worlds floating around, riding the currents of the solar tides?

The Other Self

As your body lays in bed and your conscious grasp of your form dissolves into that dreamless state of the in-between, the Other Self can separate a little bit from you…you wake up with the memory of having done and spoken and thought..the dream you had was the experiences of the Other Self. The dream you had is the life of the Other Self.

The Palace of Dream

This experience seems endless. For no matter how many times I seem to dissolve myself, I keep coming back to this moment, to this space where I seem to be experiencing something. Yet nothing seems to ever be happening to me.

I am therefore in the midst of the Dreaming. I am the dreamer who realizes he is but a speck of imagination; a tiny particle of dust in the mind of an eternal sleeper. That he who sleeps, the God who slumbers, is for a tiny moment almost waking up, and in waking up gives birth to me and to this palace of its creation.