Consciously or unconsciously, every living creature seeks one thing. In the lower forms of life and in less advanced human beings, the quest is unconscious: in advanced human beings, it is conscious. The object of the quest is called by many names — happiness, peace, freedom, truth, love, perfection, Self-realization, God-realization, union with God. Essentially, it is a search for all of these, but in a special way. Everyone has moments of happiness, glimpses of truth, fleeting experiences of union with God; what they want is to make them permanent. They want to establish an abiding reality in the midst of constant change.

(Meher Baba)

I still cannot figure it out. Maybe it has to do with the staring eyes of a loving pet, the bird song that captivates you during a morning walk, the embrace given by a stranger that opens your heart. But something, something happens sometimes, that takes you beyond your mind. Then dimensions become wobbly and transparent; measurements have no importance, and time is nonexistent.

Then, all the Promethean promises of technology, AI, immersive goggles or whatever, dissolve and become useless toys, as they try to perceive, comprehend and emulate, the majesty of life, the consciousness of consciousness, this feeling we call Love, that inundates our being and takes us to places that are not places, and opens up our seclusion, and makes us spill over everything, while understanding nothing, but while knowing everything.

Yes, that spark, that unexpected, illogical, unprogrammable and unpredictable spontaneity. That grace that dawns and transforms and sustains everything. Where is that coming from?

It is not thoughtable. Nor explainable or traceable. It is beyond the senses, words, understandings, holy books, legends, methods, rituals and instructions. It happens by happenstance, beyond magic, and goes beyond time, dimensions, and any record keeping, and makes you disappear unto yourself.

It seems to be there somewhere, latent all the time, but there is nothing you can do to prompt it to manifest, or perhaps it is all the time manifested, but as we are always looking at our navels, or our minds, we, whoever we think we are, miss it.

Sometimes an iota of that experience beyond experience, beyond remembrance, beyond mind, remains as some sort of remote feeling, like the shadow of a shadow, a hidden verse of some type, a faint song, a colored misty gouache floating an ocean breeze, that somehow percolates and intertwines with the arid deserts we thrive in.

But when we try to assemble thoughts, words, sounds, colors, to describe it, they do not reflect even a semblance, of the nature of what happened at that moment beyond moments, or that something that is there all the time.

Instead, we seem to remain floating around the medium of life, like sleepwalking. And the usual concrete things that one confronts in the surround and within us; the others, the impulses within, the routines of our ID, become film-like. One seems to be self-casting our own off-reality play. As one walks there is a subtle awareness and other worldliness, enveloping routines, a faint simultaneity view, in which we are witnessing ourselves as if in a movie projected from within.

Then the mind, operating under this influence, contemplates perspectives not seen, depths never imagined, and conceives and senses itself, as woven into a single tapestry, where everything seems to be dancing in a rhythm orchestrated, in perfect harmony of beauty and coincidence. And every simple single moment becomes transcendental, and everything becomes one interwoven scene.

In this hiatus of concreteness and measurement, therein dawns a subtle sense of fulfillment, acceptance and joy, of total trust, while not knowing anything, because really there is nothing to know. One becomes part of the forest, the birds sing within us, as we become simultaneously witness, spectator, and actor. Our Id, like in dreams, encompasses everything, while not knowing who we are, while sensing a strange integration, a simultaneous perception of being embedded in what surrounds you. An all embrace from all, as if one is embracing oneself, because there is just nothing else.

These mental shut-down moments can happen or not, anywhere, whether you are in the midst of a remote forest, watching a gorgeous sunrise, or transiting in a busy airport. But when they do, they do. And as you recover “normality” you just ooze out into the surround, as waking up inside a dream but still dreaming, spaced-out, astonished, confused. Trying to explain what happened, while trying to go back to that nowhere that included everything, in a way that cannot be explained but just felt.

All the time we are swayed by fragmentation and individuation, by impulses of completing or repeating cycles of sensation, to reaffirm our identification with mind sets, desires, opinions and points of view, all stemming out from whatever personality we identify with. This is inescapable, except when we have those spontaneous glimpses of simultaneous perception, and merge in oneness of always Being.

It seems that this is the timeless and paradoxical journey of consciousness. Yet the mind, is incapable of defining or interpreting or theorizing, over this apparent widespread experience. So, all these words collected here are nothing more than a wow, at what happened, or what is happening or not happening, as we drift, evolve, grow, and use our minds to construct and imagine, a reality that is unperceivable with perception.

Only that Silence of thought and words, that inner insight, that comes out of nowhere and lasts no time, and transcends mind, can reveal in a non-explainable way, an Isness that is non-describable.

But we tend to go back to our duality. Hope, despair, doldrums, elation, frustration, non-relented vices, attempts at virtue; all manifesting in an individuality prison that seems inescapable, where one is exposed to contrasts of Light and Darkness. And yes, this fragmented Mind experiencing individuality and fragmentation has so many tricks, apps and devices, so many memories, imaginations fast forwards, and moments of peace, intertwined in make-believe reality configurations, that one cannot stop driving under its influence. And all continues to happen, within the confines of the inner performing personality and its outer manifestations, acting its role and being perceived by each beholder in the “others” audience.

So, there is this tension, of quietude and uncertainty, this unraveling fabric of substance. This assertion of imagination versus this beingness beyond appearance. And how can one differentiate substance from mirage? When one is so thirsty and exposed to a constant barrage of information, concentrating on asserting our separation. When we believe we are our minds and try to understand and to protect ourselves from intrusions, that challenge our fortresses of self-definition.

Just think about the model we call life. We are born, we grow, and we die. We inherit views as truths, in custom and tradition. Representing the fears and perceptions accumulated by previous generations. But life, though, seems to run deeper, with molecules unbridled, and little things like neutrinos, and quarks that bark, at the sole mention of control, by these tender ego-minds of ours. Yes, suns, galaxies, and hearts, all seem to run beyond mental rules and regulations, and couldn’t care less about traditions and ambitions.

There seems to be a wild Universe, out there and inside. A universe that laughs at our attempts to digitize moments in rigidity, in the middle of a constant change imperative. A universe that bypasses engineers and pundits, and does spontaneous mischief, jumping over all formulas and prescriptions, unlocking love torrents, cosmic passions, and dawns, in an infinite party of Existence seeking realization, Love’s fulfillment, and infinite capriciousness. Bypassing the rhythms of life’s doldrums invented by our weary minds, and the context, of all perceptions of imagination.

Yes, maybe behind this mask of ours there is an invisible smile. An unperceivable perception, A Being within, that gurgles, and lights up fires in dark watery wells, every time our daydreaming becomes static and fixed, veiling love and preventing our cascading in song.

Perhaps all that we “sense and think and understand” is just a temporary interface, a restricted and impaired vision. And then real awareness dawns sometimes, between our bouts of vicious attachment to form, images, and ephemeral pleasures. And it floats intertwined, with a sensation of permanence, dancing with all the characters in the surrounding play.

Then, our multiple points of view merge into one continuous boundary-less apparition. And the setting acquires an eerie, sublime nature, wherein empathy, love, compassion and beauty, descends on everything. It is a state akin to twilight, between dreams and awakening out of a deep night sleep. Veils are still preventing a full clear sight, but one can sense the rarefied, nature of the in-between.

Our identity expands, encompassing other realms, and consciousness wonders about progression and stands in awe, at the immense beauty of pure Existence, and cannot avoid imagining the All-Love state, that is the point of origin, of this never-ending story.

We must go beyond this “mind-ridden world” and open our deeper hearts to an unperceivable, incomprehensible perception.

Everything was possible.
It was a moment eternal, endless.
A few seconds of loving twilight.

The soul, tranquil, knew all about words,
and conceived a magic and creative spell.
An inevitable illumination tore the darkness of assumption,
and everything was explained, even if it made no sense.

One evening when, whimsically, mind went to sleep.