For Me Alone

For me alone:  

never literally true, no description, and not the world itself - it's all just degrees of real, fiction told to the point of belief, and the convenience of believing. Every word to follow is true for me only in the moment of my writing. I'm less interested in a literal truth than I am beauty, even temporary in its reveal. What's real doesn't have to be true...

my view shows me a world filled with objects, separate from each other and apart from me - at first glance it's both real and true. Yet the truth is that every object is a dance of energy connected, patterns entwined in endless fashion to pattern after pattern. The solid world is an illusion. But it's real. I can run my fingers across the rough bark of a tree, and feel grass and its collection of dew against my feet. I experience the beauty of this bright, warm morning and know that it is real.My world right now is solid, but not literally so. There's a deeper truth here. Yet it's my experience that I know, what I cherish exactly in the moments, and it's a truth for me alone. 

and there's another view of reality, my own first person existence as the world itself - what's true is my inclusion to this energetic dance, another pattern added to the infinite mix. What's real, for me, is that I find myself both object and the space which allows this dance of energy to even be. In certain moments my reality is seamless - there's just the dance, interchanging partners of form and formless in endless sway. Truth and my experience seem to meet in what's real, and sure, and beautiful to the moment. It's the science of simply being me. 

both real and true. 

~

Peace, Eric