The Truth Is

The truth is:

the truth is, I have no idea where or how consciousness emerges from, if it’s all pervading or just an aspect of my brain produced through a neurochemical reaction. The truth is, it doesn’t matter much to me, both being miracles of equal proportions and importance. Indeed, I find that if matter can be arranged in such a particular way as to produce the wave of astonishment and awe that sweeps through me with every sunrise — then perhaps it’s the greatest miracle of all, an alchemical transformation of dry material into the fluid expression of a beautiful world.

I have no problem with that theory.

yet mostly, I align with a more panpsychism view, based upon a seamlessness on which my life is lived much of the time, everything flowing ever towards everything in a sense of deep connection. But I couldn’t swear that this is ultimate reality, only my own, at least often, as there are also moments in which I find myself fully immersed in trivial details that seem separate in experience from all others, a life divided into portions of affairs that call to my attention.

the truth is, both seem very real.

the difference though, is that this seamlessness of my life never feels as if its an experience, there’s a deep rightness to it that defies description other than simply saying — I am home, or even more so, that…