It's 2am bro, but I'll do it. I can't comment there, which chafes my tender bits, but I can swallow my tongue for the cause.
Edit: what I can say after reading it is that our spiritual experiences are the valuable experiences, but the memorable experiences are the ones that stick with us, regardless of whether we were questing spirits at the time or not. I have come to believe that we aren't whom we think we are, but are collectives of trillions of conscious beings that have erected 'us', our ego, as an efficient means of controlling a body, that during sleep we consult with the immense bureaucracy (yes, with desks, offices, the whole bit, at least in how I am availed perception of it) and get our marching orders. We do this in a 'bubble' where memories aren't laid down, but the bubble has borders and we can retain momentary experiences if we suddenly transit the boundary, which I did because I'm a rebellious rascal.
I recall a desk and the bureaucrat seated at it, an incredible view, as of deep space, in an oval window behind him, of stars and planets, or cells and pseudomorphs, of something inexplicable and vast, or tiny, miraculous and beautiful. The last bit of the moment was of me in midair, diving sideways through the boundary, exulting that I defied the bureaucracy to retain the knowledge it existed, that my sleep person was the me that I am, that I, what I experience me as, has free will, and they, having been conjoined to me by the vicissitudes of biology and birth, cannot unelect me, until death do us part.
So I am ambivalent about philosophies, about gods and God, these waters are all but untested by me. One man's wings lend not flight to another, so how can I interpret what others have deduced in the context of what I have perceived and recall? I cannot render the limits of our principalities, define our rights or powers, or even proclaim we are real, and who we are, although that is my experience and belief. One man's vision lends not sight to another.
We fumble and bumble along in our misconceptions, undertake practice and strive to embody sound principles per such beliefs we apprehend. Blind men fondling an elephant we guess at our purpose pulling the strings of meat puppets, wandering in an unknown land, doing our best. In some sense we are connected to the divine, whatever that really is (it isn't the bureaucrat in the office I defied, that was just representing some vast engine of collective consciousness, and telling me to be a good body controller for the collective I told to suffer my revelation of it anyway). It is good. We are here. Time will come.
It's 2am bro, but I'll do it. I can't comment there, which chafes my tender bits, but I can swallow my tongue for the cause.
Edit: what I can say after reading it is that our spiritual experiences are the valuable experiences, but the memorable experiences are the ones that stick with us, regardless of whether we were questing spirits at the time or not. I have come to believe that we aren't whom we think we are, but are collectives of trillions of conscious beings that have erected 'us', our ego, as an efficient means of controlling a body, that during sleep we consult with the immense bureaucracy (yes, with desks, offices, the whole bit, at least in how I am availed perception of it) and get our marching orders. We do this in a 'bubble' where memories aren't laid down, but the bubble has borders and we can retain momentary experiences if we suddenly transit the boundary, which I did because I'm a rebellious rascal.
I recall a desk and the bureaucrat seated at it, an incredible view, as of deep space, in an oval window behind him, of stars and planets, or cells and pseudomorphs, of something inexplicable and vast, or tiny, miraculous and beautiful. The last bit of the moment was of me in midair, diving sideways through the boundary, exulting that I defied the bureaucracy to retain the knowledge it existed, that my sleep person was the me that I am, that I, what I experience me as, has free will, and they, having been conjoined to me by the vicissitudes of biology and birth, cannot unelect me, until death do us part.
So I am ambivalent about philosophies, about gods and God, these waters are all but untested by me. One man's wings lend not flight to another, so how can I interpret what others have deduced in the context of what I have perceived and recall? I cannot render the limits of our principalities, define our rights or powers, or even proclaim we are real, and who we are, although that is my experience and belief. One man's vision lends not sight to another.
We fumble and bumble along in our misconceptions, undertake practice and strive to embody sound principles per such beliefs we apprehend. Blind men fondling an elephant we guess at our purpose pulling the strings of meat puppets, wandering in an unknown land, doing our best. In some sense we are connected to the divine, whatever that really is (it isn't the bureaucrat in the office I defied, that was just representing some vast engine of collective consciousness, and telling me to be a good body controller for the collective I told to suffer my revelation of it anyway). It is good. We are here. Time will come.