To be the only thing that is "the other" without fractures, without folds. To be.
To be that other, who comes and you recognise and can see and feel (in the soul), while your mind is in a frantic race, a race of separation, of non-acceptance...
This is the danger: to see ourselves on the outside as independent entities, separate in soul. The soul is peace, and union, the mind - on the other hand - is restless, cruel, and has two parts. Let's say that in one of them, there is a switch to release cold until freezing, death. This is the part in charge of protecting according to rules and conventions. And speaking of death, which of the two dies, have you considered it? It is the mind that dies when the body dies, but the soul... remains.
Yes, there are many lives to live. You know that.
That was all she could think about. But it was not her, but a voice that actually came from another shore. Still, she thought and drained her thoughts as if her life depended on it (this life). She struggled through the twists and turns of her soulless mind. There was a part of her that needed to be healed and reprogrammed, but it was as difficult as changing a bad habit or getting rid of an unhealthy addiction.
And how to recognise the opposite, that is, not to try to change the habit or the addiction that could finally lead her to that unique body, created at the beginning of time? How to make it possible with the mind flipping the ice switch at every step that seemed to bring those two parts together?
Could it be that we recognised each other? Is it real? Why do I feel everything vibrating inside me and burning? Questions and more questions. The mind in a mad race of separation. Rupture, estrangement, insomnia, nightmares, emptiness... above all, emptiness.
Difficult times.
She was not sure. Who knows how far there was still to go, that's why the voice insisted that the vibrations travel like waves in a mirror of water, from the distant shores to join at the centre and then bounce back. So any thought is a journey. The challenge is to make it beautiful, said the voice.
This flame wandered, still asleep she wandered... she was dying to wake up, but again the mind grabbed her and plunged her into an atrocious river, where only the idea of separation and drowning dwells.
It seemed that only the possibility of the vulture flapping its wings until it flooded her soul with darkness was accepted.
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