the idea of me

Am I to blame because I think I ride this breathing machine? Am I really a special dream of my powerful craft?

Is it that I’m going nowhere but to extinction? Can I feel it in my bones that my being’s essence is the mystery? If so what’s to be done?

The sages say to relax into silence. Do I relax and then does the being’s awareness shine through? Does my adventure begin with the mystery and end with it too? If so what words of advice can I give to myself if any?

Should I say Don’t be afraid to crash? Should I plan on surrendering because I’ll probably reboot automatically like I do after sleeping? Is the chance small that I can permanently eliminate myself? Can I accidentally kill the idea of me?

Why is this religious adventure so appealing and yet so hard to go on? Is it because I the identity know that it’s nice to think about giving up control but I’ll not any time soon give it up?

Have I become an expert on how to put things off or to take the long way around to avoid even the hint of risk? Is this why this difficult thing never gets done and it’s always out of reach?

Or can I come up with a way to make the difficult thing a habit and go fishing for existence every day and reap the side benefits of this healthy habit — this live on the spot adventure — this possibility of speed that’s as quick as imagination?

Is it possible to sense the weirdness of this quantum universe? Is my having been invented by life a built in bonus and what is it that’s being worked for?

Is it the simple joys that come with a daily practice which is prepared for but isn’t expecting more?

Is this the ideal situation? Does the absence of an identity automatically prime the mystery?

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