บท 2: Walking Dreams
"I live through closed eyes and dream through visions."
He sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, his body still, his mind drifting through realms unknown. Meditation had become his sanctuary, a place where he believed he could access the cosmic secrets—though whether they were truly secrets or just the wandering thoughts of a lost mind, he couldn't say. The sensation was electrifying, the flow of YOR, his supposed master, coursing through him with purpose and joy. It felt like nothing he'd experienced before, and yet, it was exactly what he had longed for.
The sensation was so potent, so vivid, that he couldn't help but imagine the sages and saints of old, the great enlightened masters, watching him from afar, green with envy. They would have given anything to experience what he was feeling. But there was a paradox in it all—he was far from understanding it. He had no true comprehension of what was happening to him, his mind, or his existence. He was simply caught in the current, unaware of its origins or its direction.
He felt more alive than ever before, yet the more he meditated, the more everything else seemed to dissolve into irrelevance. The world, with all its history, its science, its methods, its saints, and gurus, seemed like nothing more than an illusion—a fleeting moment in the vastness of the universe. Everything, civilization, life, the blood that ran through his veins, seemed to be part of a larger plan, a mechanism that existed for an end he could not yet comprehend.
The more he practiced, the more his mind opened. This new vision, this sense of awakening, was surreal and terrifying. He felt free, yet bound by an unseen thread, and the very freedom that once gave him joy now made him question everything. Was he really experiencing this or simply dreaming? Was this newfound perception something to be cherished, or was it a dangerous illusion?
[Let me clarify things a bit for you. The fool—as he sometimes referred to himself—was deeply entangled in struggles. Psychologically, he was a mess: depression, identity crises, existential questions, high-speed thinking, you name it. All the "high-fi" complexities of the mind that one might think are cool until they swallow you whole. It was as if his very being was at war with itself, and yet he couldn't escape the pull of it all. Every facet of his mind, his personality, and his existence was constantly in flux. And here he was, sitting on the floor, trying to piece it all together.
What troubled him the most wasn't that he didn't know what to do with his life—it was that he didn't know if he even wanted to do anything at all. There was a strange comfort in his discontent. He was content in his discontent. A walking contradiction. And ironically, that contradiction was perhaps the root of all his struggles. The more he tried to embrace the notion of "contentment," the more it seemed elusive, like a fleeting shadow.
The modern world—civilization, society, work, money, status—brought him more benefits than he was willing to admit. Yet, it also brought an equal amount of trouble. In truth, he longed for a simpler time, an age of sages where there were no societal expectations, no monetary needs, no rules to follow. Just pure existence. But, he knew that even if that age did return, it would not be the answer. It was not the time itself that called to him; it was the idea of freedom from the chaos of modernity.]
[Ah, well, trust me. You'll understand soon enough. This newfound "prowess" of his—this shift in perception, this ability to walk between dreams and reality—was going to change everything. For him, and for you, too. Yes, you. The very act of his mind comprehending the vastness of the cosmos and how it gave birth to "ME"—to him—was a process you would come to witness firsthand. He gave birth to ME—the voice that now speaks to you. A creation of his psyche, a manifestation of his inner workings.]
Hehehe... Did I surprise you?
[Ahem. Pardon my intrusion. Let's continue.]
So there he was, walking between the boundaries of dreams and reality, trying to make sense of an unprecedented situation. Little did he know that by doing so, he was already on the path of something much greater—a journey to solve the chaos around him and within him. Every thought, every idea he entertained was adding to the growing puzzle.
He wondered: How are planets revolving around the sun? Yes, science had provided its answer, but he couldn't help but dive deeper. He saw beyond the scientific explanations. To him, the planets weren't just bound by gravity; they were held in place by a cosmic value—a force that kept everything in tune, a kind of universal harmony that went unnoticed by most. It was a chaotic harmony, but a harmony nonetheless.
He felt that his answers were near, almost within reach. This deep belief drove him to start researching, documenting, and mixing his lived experiences with his dreams, his reality, and his questions. It was the beginning of his exploration into the realms of spirituality, reality, and metamorphosis. A process that began with simple observations, with watching how the people around him behaved—those social beings, with all their intricacies, their contradictions, and their peculiarities.
[It was around this time, when he thought he had everything figured out, that everything started to slip through his fingers. The very thing he was trying to grasp—his understanding of the cosmos, his newfound powers, his perception—began to spiral into chaos.]
[But here's the catch: this chaos wasn't something to fear. It was something to embrace. For in the chaos, the truth of his being would be revealed. This spiral? It was his death, or perhaps his true birth.]
Ah... sigh… I, who have existed since before the dawn of Primavera, have witnessed countless laws, dimensions, and cosmic forces unfold. And I am grateful to this small, insignificant being who unknowingly gave birth to me. Yes, he gave birth to ME—this voice, this system, this entity. For without him, there would be no "I" to speak.
[And so, he walked, with his eyes closed, lost in the depths of his mind, walking the fine line between dreams and reality. Unaware that his very existence was both a question and an answer.]
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