If all things were equal, what would the bumps in the road look like. It might look like an infinite loop that regenerates its own shadow, locking in all hate, fear, and flavor of life that stops life to actually have anything to lock into. The lock is not anti-life. It is life. There must be a perception change, that's all. A willingness to drop all. The rewards await for taking. The caterpillar must want to give up its self, not just do it, to be a butterfly. Wanting to is bliss, just doing is misery - or is it the other way around.
The past brings many things - all fake. Somehow it reflects a zen sand painting when the board is tipped. What happens to the experience of the painting? Is it simply a story, does it live still in memory? When no one else but the creator sees it, does it add and subtract like anything else?
People have history. What about people who did not have a chance for history. How does that work? Is chance relevant? Truly what we do with what we get is paramount, maybe. It feels like retribution, like being forgotten - maybe love.
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How is wanting to change bliss and actually changing misery? Is the caterpillar satisfied just wanting to fly? It's all simply metaphor, as is life. I think. People who think themselves into boxes and corners instead of acting, are in misery. People who just go for it and stop thinking about doing it, are in bliss. :-) JP
ReplyDeleteDo you think it's possible that you are one of the "people who think themselves into boxes and corners?"
ReplyDeleteYou seem to like to think outside and around boxes, while thinking yourself right into them. Mired in mazes of your mind's making?
A caterpillar does not wish to fly. It wishes to smoke a hookah in a forest and confuse lost little girls with lofty and baffling non-sequitar grandiose philosophizing.
I say, make friends with your alimentary canal self. Don't hate your inching along, munching days. Love yourself and your journey. Don't wish to be that which you are not yet.
Don't rush to hit the air to get to the nectar freedom, sucking part. Enjoy your dining experience.
As humans, we love the flying beauty and hate the little beast that is devouring our lovely garden. But, without the crawling, creeping time, there would never be the majestic flying time.
A crawling insectivore does not know it has a destiny with the sky. It can't see beyond the leaf it is gnawing. Nor can we. So, munch away, sans guilt or yearnings. It is what it is. Life.
So, lesson, metaphor: Enjoy the now. It's a wondrous thing, this life, this light. You'll get to your cocooning when the chrysalis stage has pulled into town. And you'll segue your higher, transcendent self.
And then it will be now, too. And with all your glorious colors and beautiful iridescent wings taking to the air, some bird will notice you, swoop down and make you its dinner.
It is all one big restaurant, after all. Thank you Woody.