Dream of Life
Life is but a dream the boy remembered the quote from an interesting documentary he watched a few days earlier, if it wasn’t for the mind, we could all just wake up…
Trying to find the comfortable position on the wicked, rather uncomfortable, couch, he pushed his feet against the carpet. His hands clasped around the warm cup of tea resembled palms folded into prayer, as he pondered the ideas and thoughts shared in the movie as well as in the books he got to read. Plenty of questions kept appearing at the back of his mind, while his consciousness devoured the bits and pieces of information the many sources of knowledge offered to his young perception. He thought of the Buddhist idea of enlightenment, of Bible’s invitation to look within, and of Einstein’s quote, which like a bucket of cold water freshened up the way his awareness was to think of it all. The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking claimed the wonderful scientist, change your thinking and you will change your world… Seek and you shall find encouraged the Bible, the truth shall set you free… All life is imperfect and impermanent reminded the first of the Four Noble Truths of the Buddha.
With his gaze fixed on the steam above the cup, the boy considered the complexity of this ‘life’s dream’, which in itself appears so real it is almost impossible to see it in a different light. Enlightenment is not external he remembered the perspective Tibetan Book of the Dead shared with him a while ago, enlightenment comes from within… According to our logic-driven mind, we live in a dualistic world he pondered, it’s either good or bad, down or up, dark or bright… But what if enlightenment doesn’t mean shining the light upon darkness, rather the absence of both…? He imagined a space without any boundaries, shades, and shapes, just space. If black colour consists of all the colours mixed together, would that mean that the white colour consists of the absence of any colour in its essence…? Would it be the whiteness of the absence that our wisdom of the past relates to as the ‘bright light’…?
Excited with his discourse he closed his eyes and imagined a marketplace, one similar to vast Morocco’s marketplaces, where endless rows of stalls, boxes, and tables offer the abundance of colourful items to buy. He imagined the immense crowd in constant flow across space, their interactions, screams, bargains, and expressions, and he observed the scene, which his mind painted in front of his inner eye.
Hundreds of stalls, filled with thousands of items beamed their variety and colourfulness against the eyes of the visiting pedestrians, prospectors, and merchants. People of all ages danced within this space discussing the offers, arguing about the prizes, stealing from one another, making friends with newly met strangers, enjoying the taste, smell, and sight of the riches the tables had to offer. The noise of mixed voices, orders, claims, and accusations hovered above the moving masses, like a breeze swiftly hanging above the aroused oceanic waters. A family with many kids interacted with an experienced merchant, as their youngest fancied one of the bright-coloured balls displayed on the beautiful carpet; a young boy pulled his girl closer to himself, as they were making out by one of the building’s walls; a wallowing beggar screamed with pain, as one of the pedestrians stepped onto his foot not noticing the poor lad, whose will to fight for happiness evaporated alongside the alcohol, which flowed through his veins for the many years, and still does more often than not. There was plenty of laughter and smiling, as well as plenty of sadness and frowning. There were many people considerate of others and many that did not wish to consider anyone at all. There were treats full of taste and nourishment alongside those which could only bring suffering and awful aftertaste to those who were unaware of what was to come. There was more noise than silence, more distraction than focus, more arousal than calm. There was everything and anything, everyone, and anyone. It was all there in plain sight, yet barely anyone found the time to see. The noise and intensity of the place were rather difficult to ignore. But there was one person who appeared to be different. One individual, whose moves were much calmer, whose voice was much quieter, whose pose was much less erratic, whose wishes were no more. Sitting on the side of the market, somewhere between the kissing couple and the arguing family there was a man dressed in a cloak, whose long grey beard appeared to kiss the ground with each move of his head. It looked like he was saying something, but no one was able to hear him. Not many would look down below their eye level anyway, as all the riches and pleasantries of the world were out there higher than the ground. With his eyes closed, he murmured something quietly; his hands rested patiently against his knees. He was sitting almost still, contrasting with the immense agitation of the world around him. He was saying one sentence, again and again, over and over. ‘I am loving awareness’ he appeared to state, as his lips moved almost silently against the vastness of the noise. But no one was able to hear him.
The boy opened his eyes and took a sip of his not-so-warm-anymore tea, as his mind settled with the imagery, which projected itself onto his consciousness so intensely. Isn’t it how we are in the world he pondered, constantly agitated, constantly judging, constantly rushing, trying, getting, losing, shouting, loving, fighting, being… Being… We are constantly being, just not necessarily being aware of this being… He clicked his tongue disappointed with his own perceptions, which constantly agitated projected themselves onto everything, everyone, and everywhere he has been, presently was, and was going to be. It’s like looking through a tainted window he concluded, the wisdom and awareness is there ready to be seen, we just need to make sure to silence the noise and clean the surface of the dust and dirt of preconceived perceptions…
We just have to wake up.
Also check out my other abstract/philosophical story: