At the very center — the core, the foundation, whatever you want to call it — there's nothing. Even that's not quite right, because there's not even nothingness. Sometimes I can actually get that in focus for a few minutes. At one point I held it in focus for most of every day over a period of about two months.
When that's in focus, everything else vanishes. It's as if none of it ever existed. All the random crap I write about is gone, never was. No broken bed. No farting dog. No willowy, no ethereal. No mind. Nothing moving.
Eventually, I have to 'zoom the lens' back out, and things, sensations, concepts and other stuff reappear. From where do they come? From what are they made? At the baseline, there is nothing from which they can be formed, so how do they get here? You could say I just imagine them, but then where do I come from? Do I just imagine myself?
From a certain perspective, yes, I do. It's the Buddhist 'thoughts without a thinker' concept. But if the thoughts I perceive are not mine, from where do they come? How do they spring from the nothingness/absence of nothingness which can make no thing?
Once you've gotten a glimpse of that nothingness/not nothingness, it's hard to attach importance to much of anything. It's all a blank, except that even a blank is something, representing an absence of something else.
I was getting ready to go out for the morning, and I stopped to browse the web. When I sat down, the cat jumped in my lap and went to sleep. I realized that's what I wanted to do myself. So now I'm back in bed. Or rather, the cloud of nothingness/not nothingness perceived as 'me' is back on the cloud of nothingness/not nothingness perceived as 'the bed.'
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