Everything changes

If, however, it’s realized that every so-called thing, including you, is actually motion, there is no expectation of stability; there’s never any form to hold or to understand. There is simply a magical dance of ever-changing appearances. — Darryl Bailey, Essence Revisited: Slipping Past the Shadows of Illusion (p. 7), New Harbinger Publications, Kindle Edition

This is the same metaphor as Buddhists use when they ascribe the idea of non-permanence to our ever-shifting, ever-changing lives (and everything we think we know).

How does it translate to reality?

It doesn't. Not really.

Our brains, psyche or self-awareness have slipped into the illusion that what we see, feel and experience is real. As they say: we've made it concrete.

Think about it. 

Everything you (now) see is changing, moving on to something else. And that includes the planet. One day it won't be here and will self-destruct or be taken out by god knows what. 

Likewise, the moment we're born we're already dying. 

As for the house, car and all the paraphernalia we acquire, all that too is subtly but surely changing.

Then there are the thoughts, moods and exigencies of life. One day this; the next day that. It's a wonder (to be honest) we don't go mad. (Some do, sadly.)

In my case, the veil — if you can call it that — comes and goes. Some days I'm locked into my story. Others, I wake up to reality — i.e. emptiness is form, form is emptiness (taken from the Heart Sutra). 

Do I long for it otherwise?

Not really.

It is what it is.

That said, working on the octane of motivation or money or the moral compass is all part of the fantasy that we're fully in control. I wish that were the case but we're not. If you go back in time and try to find out the exact reason why you did or didn't do something, it's impossible. Sure, you'll put together a brilliant story to explain away your decision but you know in your heart that you could just have easily done something else. 

In the end, as I've said many times (and got a few brickbats for my existential troubles), none of this really matters. It might at the time, but in this ever-shifting, primordial soup which we inhabit for such a brief period of time, we know so very little.

And perhaps that's what we should acknowledge:

not knowing.

Now that's something worth coming home to.



PS. Here's a talk by Daryl Bailey that I especially like.


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