What I am — is experienced. Or perhaps it’s better said that I am experiencing myself each moment through thoughts and sensations, my body known by its contact to the world, and my mind by its translation of what occurs. There is no set and settled me that is witness to it all, each moment is found fluid, a new experience of self to now be noted — and yet there’s no one there to note what happens, just the experience giving the illusion of a solid understanding. To say illusion gives the sense of not being real, but reality itself seems to be a blend of mystery and known, form and formless at once, and there is no point apart to what seems to be two. What I am is real — yet not entirely so. I accept the paradox.
Each moment something is occurring. I am experiencing whatever is happening now on many deep and subtle levels. As well there is the surface of this event and it is just as mysterious as depth of this experience. My conscious mind notes this flow of words, registers birds in song outside the window, and gives pause for new words to find me. I am able to turn my attention to each event individually as they occur but never once truly divide them. The experience itself is whole, ongoing, and it all happens without cause or effort on my part, an action in the same moment of its observation as far as I can tell. Of course this mystery plays deeper, events that have me gathered from infinite particles that could easily have been something other. Somehow too this is experienced as me.
So all I’m able to truly say about myself is that I am experiencing, that I am an event in constant occurrence, and this is later noted as to what I call myself.
What I am — is now.
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