Imagine if everyone swallowed a magic substance that deactivates the neurons which give rise to their Ego. How would the world look like? Would we touch the other and feel their perspective immediately? Would we touch their chest and feel our own, as if the two lungs are entangled? Would we breathe differently then?

Floating in the ancient Greek sea, my agency becomes the agency of the waves that determine my thoughts. I become a buoyant consciousness. In this world, phenomenology and ontology are the same.

I am liberated plasma and I exist through the pure physical reality of energy and matter. There is no language or symbols to approach the Absolute- not from here or there, not from the past or the future. I have direct experience of the Absolute. It’s the ego that prevents you from seeing It and it’s language which constructs your ego to explain itself. The experience of timereality is ineffable and can only be grasped through the mechanics of our ancestral intuition. Can I then pause my ego and still exist in this world or is it an unattainable spiritualistic oxymoron?

I close my eyes and see the energy ripples of the glowing sun. My senses do not perceive an external reality because external and internal are one and the same. The inner Id has poured itself outwards and I become the channel of the cosmic mojo.

I could sit on top of a proud and glorious mountain overlooking the sea, open my heart and let this energy flow like an inevitable stream towards the universe - with all its light, intent and warmth. Again..and again..and again..and again in this sensuous dance of the eternal recurrence.

Everything is perfect here and now. The sand looks like glitter as the gradient violet-orange sun sets. Never have I noticed the unique nature of this moment, or reflected about the deep origins of each individual grain of sand. Never will we experience this moment again. It’s this Bergsonian durée, that makes each moment perfectly nostalgic and unique in the uneven battle with the probabilistic universe.

I'm zooming in the sand granules and the singular minutiae of direct experience. Each and every granule is ontologically and aesthetically unique. Sometimes it's important to think of sand this way. Sometimes its important to think of sand like a homogeneous mass. It is in this spectrum that morality eternally fluctuates.

Art is the way to describe the Absolute, but all our mouths collectively are not big enough to fully Speak the Truth. We try and once in a while we get a glimse- we, the miniscule yet all so complete beings.

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