I am nobody. But I arise. Thought is pure magic, mystery, and for it to occur, that which gives life has had to open itself to decoherence and embody a whirlwind, an energetic, material system, and "something" more, colossal. Unimaginable in its complexity, in the infinite maneuvers that have to be orchestrated until that which is so ethereal and so powerful manifests in... the mind? At least seen from thought itself.
Then, we are astonished by the concretion of its mandates. Be it the design of the most terrible war or the most magnificent work of art, be it the cruelest betrayal or the tenderest gesture of affection. Be it feeling like a king or feeling like a slave. Be it lighting a bonfire or creating the most complex civilization. Be it dreaming of redeeming gods or saving technologies.
Thought. That which embitters you and that which gladdens you. That which unites us and separates us, that which dreams us alive and dead. But then, "I" think, and what is everything that sustains this thought really like? What is all that energy and matter or whatever it is like if it is not thought? What am I if I don't think about myself? Who am I? When I try not to think while awake, then I daydream. I say dream in the literal sense of nocturnal dreams. It's as if the "order" disappeared and everything is possible, like in dreams. But they are still "depersonalized" or "de-everydayed" or "detemporalized" or "degeographized" or "dehistoricized" thoughts. But thoughts.
Because there is awareness that you are dreaming, and if there is awareness, you are thinking, and if there is no awareness, then you are dreaming; you left wakefulness behind. Thoughts are creating dreams. But thought has a crack, a flaw, a door, and it is that which sustains them (the thoughts), life, the coherent one, is so magnificent, so portentous that it cannot be thought (And, of course, I am not referring to the life that we think, analyze, dismember, "biologize", "mathematize", etc. etc.).
I push that door. And, for an instant, the conscious, the subconscious, and all that brutal network of thoughts of the human collective of all time yields. And there, sometimes, I settle for a billionth of a second in that "nobody". And because I know that that "nobody" at that instant is not thought. I cannot know it, I will never be able to know it. But I know it. And something more, thought seems to feel very good remembering where it is sitting, what sustains and feeds it, where it comes from. It feels good to impact with that "nobody". It's like it relaxes. It no longer feels so alone, important, frantic, and transcendent. Thought begins to recognize itself, it is as if it had walked madly through the world, alone, separated; it is as if thought became aware that it is thought, only thought, simply thought, and that it belongs to something immense of which it is only a part and it is as if it has to sleep a little, without dreaming. Sleep, rest, relax, trust, unfold, connect, evolve. In short, "allow" life not to stagnate in it. Flow. Vacate "spaces and times", without suspicion or fear. Then even thought itself is astonished at the feeling of peace. The bowl.
