Night 1

Today I woke up with earplugs in my ears and rain outside my window. I spent a couple hours in bed rolling from side to side until my body was in so much pain that I had to get up and walk around. 

Upon leaving my room, I am met with familiar faces and voices, words and phrases that I know but cannot feel. The rain beats down on the ground outside and it's all I am able to understand, the natural stimulation of the world without my mind. I am trying to listen to you and learn and appreciate and love. The best I can give is an excuse to leave the room.

My house is my body, each space a part of my self. Inside I feel closed, each wall only representing the real walls inside of me, if they're even there. It is spacious, and people live there, but I walk through like a ghost, and only everything else exists, not me. Bouncing from habit to habit until an outside force graces me will to leave. A job, or a promise, or feeling so overwhelmed with the trillion incomprehensible thoughts in my head that I push myself outside. Today I had nothing to push or pull me anywhere. Monday is my day of rest.

If I don't even believe I am real, how could anything else be? If the world is not separate from myself. I am told it is of an illusory nature, but so is myself and the perceiver behind these eyes. Nothing is seeing, nothing is feeling, nothing is touching or tasting or craving, that it just is. Desire and inertia, energy, the only "thing" that's "real." The movement from one space to another. But no true movement occurs at all. That itself is also an illusion. Because what is there that can be moved, and through what space would the movement occur?

The deeper you dive into form, the emptier it seems to be.

Who is diving? Who is seeking? From what source does this curiosity arise? Is it the heart? The soul? How do I see my own eyes? It's circular. The questions never end.

So amidst all this, I make a cup of coffee and sit on the couch. Amidst all this, the rain is heard, the relaxation is felt, the conversations roll along. Nothing to talk about, nothing to do, no interest or attachment. Carried through day after day after day. It's all nonsense.