Tags

, ,

Zarathustra

Prologue

This is the story of my life, but not really. I do not intend to write it like a story. That is, my story does not have a beginning, middle, and end. I prefer to think of it as a collection of photographs in words, as isolated snapshots of inner experiences that have been mine, and which have no noticeable connection. A photograph is just a photograph; an image. If there is a story to it you have added it to the image yourself. It is extra. It doesn’t come with it. Same with this: if you sense a story when you read this, it is your own doing, not mine. It is your own mind connecting things, putting them together to make sense of it, but you are doing this. We feel more comfortable when we believe we know or understand something, instead of facing the reality of something unknown. Therefore we connect things. I will not try to connect anything at all, I will just write.

You see, your real life is not outer events, it is inner states. It is not what you are doing, or where you are, but who is the doer, and who is the one there.

But you do not know who you are, do you? Who is reading this now? Can you answer that sincerely?

Advertisements