Joey
Enlightened
- Jun 14, 2020
- 1,432
Life on earth is like being in a house on fire. But the flames are not made up of heat and light but rather of time. Through the illusion of linear time we experience ourselves incrementally. We say "this follows that " and so we experience ourselves little by little instead of all at once. First we're young and then we're old.
Through time we also experience others. Trusting our senses we say "this person is here, because I can see and hear and touch them." We say that the senses shine in the body's gates of touch and smell and sight but this is only partially true. When we sleep every night and the body's gates are closed, we dream. And in our dreams we also see and hear and touch and taste. So the senses are also shining in our minds and in our consciousness.
When we wake up we say "oh that was just a dream " and we go right back to believing our senses again and say that "this world is all there is" forgetting all about that we dreamed of the night before.
Time creates memory and we are our memories. When someone asks you who you are, or you ask yourself who you are you are, you are your memories. What is experience but a giant bundle of memories. Memories of the things we did, the people we loved, the places we lived. We're made up of all those things we call our memories that time itself created in us.
Time also creates the appearance of living and dying. When we can touch and hear and talk to someone with our senses, we say "this person is alive." When our senses can no longer perceive someone we say "they are dead." But are they really? Or are they simply on a frequency that your very limited senses can longer perceive?
Time. It's like the scaffolding surrounding that house on fire that is our life. The fire slowly consumes the house moving it piece by piece from the seen to the unseen. And when it finally reaches us, it consumes us too, leaving us invisible to the senses of all the other people still left in the house. When that happens they say "he died" and all they are left with is what they themselves are, their memories.
Hurry, hurry, flurry, flurry, time is ticking scurry, scurry. Hurry, hurry, time is ticking...and life is the honey that death keeps licking.
Time is the fire in which we learn, time is the fire in which we burn.
Through time we also experience others. Trusting our senses we say "this person is here, because I can see and hear and touch them." We say that the senses shine in the body's gates of touch and smell and sight but this is only partially true. When we sleep every night and the body's gates are closed, we dream. And in our dreams we also see and hear and touch and taste. So the senses are also shining in our minds and in our consciousness.
When we wake up we say "oh that was just a dream " and we go right back to believing our senses again and say that "this world is all there is" forgetting all about that we dreamed of the night before.
Time creates memory and we are our memories. When someone asks you who you are, or you ask yourself who you are you are, you are your memories. What is experience but a giant bundle of memories. Memories of the things we did, the people we loved, the places we lived. We're made up of all those things we call our memories that time itself created in us.
Time also creates the appearance of living and dying. When we can touch and hear and talk to someone with our senses, we say "this person is alive." When our senses can no longer perceive someone we say "they are dead." But are they really? Or are they simply on a frequency that your very limited senses can longer perceive?
Time. It's like the scaffolding surrounding that house on fire that is our life. The fire slowly consumes the house moving it piece by piece from the seen to the unseen. And when it finally reaches us, it consumes us too, leaving us invisible to the senses of all the other people still left in the house. When that happens they say "he died" and all they are left with is what they themselves are, their memories.
Hurry, hurry, flurry, flurry, time is ticking scurry, scurry. Hurry, hurry, time is ticking...and life is the honey that death keeps licking.
Time is the fire in which we learn, time is the fire in which we burn.
