The Looking Glass
At best it’s cloudy, at worst it’s downright grimy — this looking glass that I see my life through. Every once in a while however, I get a glimpse of something real, something crisp and clean; something that speaks to me in other than muted tones. For some reason this shocks me — the clarity I mean. I’ve known beauty and I’ve known bliss, it’s just been a while; albeit a long while.
It is the nature of us as human beings that our only true experiences are in the here and now. Nirvana, no matter how intense, simply becomes a memory once it slips out of our real-time conscious grip. Even with this rational understanding, I still scramble to find ways of “capturing the moment” — even to the extent of missing out on these ecstatic moments in the anxiety of trying to preserve them.
These moments of clarity — they are ephemeral. They seem of infinite depth, but limited in time. Of course, as any physicist worth his salt will tell you, time as we conceive it does not actually exist; it’s a figment of our imagination, an artifact of our dominant method perception.
In fact, everything we encounter in the physical world is an artifact of our senses working in union with our brain. The ubiquitous sensation of being “separate” from what we perceive, is part of this fiction.
These moments of clarity appear to taunt me. They seem just far enough away, and just abstract enough, to prevent me from reaching out and touching or aligning with them. I;ve recently come to a new perspective on this. These moments/events could likely be teaching events — the universe reaching out and saying “don’t give up”. In this light I look at them as gifts, reminding me that this “Looking Glass” I so adamantly cling to is simply another one of the ways I find to keep myself separate.