Unfocused eyes, unfocused mind. Roaming across the jungle of thoughts that I've picked up since I've woken up.
There aren't many at this point in time, since I've woken up only an hour and a half ago, no stimulation to distract or define them yet.
The temptation to pick up my phone gets loudly insidious. I'll pass this time around (again) and decide to go outside and look at the sky
This vastness never ceases to bewitch me into thinking that my internal landscape is a microcosm of this boundless sky, and the Earth is the point of view where everything else is looked from.
If that's really the case, then internally getting to the internal sun shouldn't be hard when I figure out how to move across the various celestial bodies of my own consciousness.
Could this internal sun be the Self itself? Would I get internal burns that resemble having a scorching fever, but of the soul?
I hope not. Fevers are chillingly unbearable despite me knowing it's the system's way of kicking out strangers from body land.
The issue itself is how the intensity mirrors an inner battle that combines physical discomfort with a mental one.
A flock of birds are crossing overhead going towards the direction of the ocean. 8 of them to be precise, their specie is unknown to me, but the formation seems intentional, like they're following some invisible map written in magnetic fields.
I wonder what it's like to live like a bird. I've noticed recently that unlike many mammals or humans, birds don't lay down while they sleep. They often perch and remain upright.
There's something aspirational about sleeping while still holding your place in the world, never fully surrendering to the horizontal vulnerability we humans crave.
Now, I'm also wondering how do fishes sleep living inside water at all times? Do they ever truly "rest" in the way we understand it, or is their existence a continuous, fluid state of awareness?
It strikes me that while birds maintain their position against gravity even in sleep, fish exist in a realm where position itself is fluid, up and down are suggestions rather than absolutes.
This could well be why the question of their sleep fascinates me. Both live in a state I can only approximate in meditations.
Those 8 birds are probably halfway to the water by now, following some ancient pull I can barely imagine.
Makes me wonder (again) about the flocks of thoughts that migrate through my own inner landscape, sometimes toward emotional oceans I can't quite name yet.
The more I look outwards, the more questions bubble up about the hidden mechanics of life, both within and beyond me.
Perhaps, these unanswerable questions are the truest form of mental clarity, in that they hint at true understanding not coming from definitive answers, but potentially from the simple act of wondering.
I don't think true understanding itself can come through purely intellectual frameworks.
But I guess, it could well be a gateway to a more expansive and less constrained way of perceiving reality.
The unfocused mind, paradoxically, begins to see everything.
Now, back to focused eyes, the mind follows automatically and starts thinking about aspects of this particular shade of green that I've laid my eyes on.
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