Ramble Ramble Ramble.

He was born too early. She was born too late. This has my head spinning all over again with the question of what existence really is.

Existence is just a succession of moments, but a moment can’t exist in any objective sense. There is only flow. But that means time is the bedrock of reality, and I can’t throw off the nagging suspicion that time doesn’t exist either, it’s just an illusion providing a framework for an illusion.

This is too simple. Being an illusion doesn’t stop something from being real. Anything that is perceivable is real, and everything save the ultimate goal is an illusion. The semantics of language are getting in the way, but I’m led to suspect that the first real illusion beyond the current real illusion is experience. Experience lives in consciousness, and I’ve long thought that consciousness is central to the ultimate goal whether we call the ultimate goal ‘real’ or not.

I’m rambling, and another question presents itself. What is love, and how does it relate to life? No, that’s too personal. How does it relate to existence? Love is an experience, isn’t it? Or is it something more; is it at least an advanced form of experience? Is it merely further along the first real illusion beyond the current real illusion? So does that mean it’s extra real? Is it permanent, is it binding, is it universal, is it worth dying for? A sense of loss is a form of death, albeit a passing one.

(Oh dear, what is death? A mere nothing I suspect at the end of the equation, something of significance only in passing. And here we are back to time again.)

This doesn’t worry me, it merely intrigues. My current real illusion is being extended in several ways at the moment. Boundaries are falling away, and it’s difficult enough to make sense of the new views without o’erleaping myself and falling on the other (I’ve used that reference twice now. Must find a new one.)

Am I learning finally to revere life, however illusory it might be? Certainly. Am I learning to love life? (Am I learning to love at all?) I don’t know yet. Can time be manipulated so as to alter the current real illusion? Probably, but I don’t know how. Yet.

This is interesting (to me, that is.) Did I say that the last twelve months have been freaky? I wonder where I’m going. I wonder how long it will be before I get to know anything. But now I’m countering my own point. ‘Going’ and ‘how long’ presume the reality of time. Maybe I’m not going anywhere. Maybe I know everything already. Maybe we all do; maybe we’ve just forgotten.

Shutting up now. My current real illusion is making me sad. I’m going to do some jobs and pretend I’m living, and then go for a walk while the sun shines. Or appears to.