Stains on the window of your consciousness can attract your attention; so much so that most of us settle for the occluded view, when what we really want to do is take a brick and smash the grubby window entirely.
Everything, especially what you feel to be a self, is a stain on the window. The whole damn thing is only a kind of greenhouse. Anything you can possibly think of or experience is made of glass.
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Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream.
3 comments:
The double-glazed windows out of which I stare have been constructed so poorly that they fill with water. This is affecting me greatly so that my stained windows have now stained the windows of my soul.
It's like psychosomatic phenomena - the soul is manifested in its physical (tangential) equivalent.
My life is a greenhouse; the roots of my fears are tightly hothoused and watered and they are rapidly sprouting. Yet, unlike most I know my problem: I am terrifyingly sane - too sane because I can through everyone... I just wish that I could clearly see out my windows.
you can see clearly. Whatever is, IS IT!
(it's all glass, even the stains; see them for what they are)
And about your 'fear', you don't want to go interpreting it as fear. See it for what you described it as, a beautiful hot house exotic plant. Big red leaves; it's gorgeous! Smell its musky scent!
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