I am the world experiencing itself

writing from a mindful september day

Thoughts and feelings flow through me as I walk around the pool. The sun is setting now. It's bright in my eyes. I must've walked 10 laps. 20? 50? 100? I've lost count. I experience multiple insights in a row.

I am the world experiencing itself. This ground and this shadow and this water are not so different from myself.

I am listening. Right now. Listening to the whispers. I skim the ones I like off the surface. I let some others fall away again. What is this I I speak of? Who knows.

Again, I am the world experiencing itself.

Conflicts and tensions rise like tangled rope in the sea.

I feel like I'm doing nothing right now. Now as in right right now, but also in this stage of my life. Where do I go? How will I know where to go?

I hear the whisper. It already knows the answer. You will know in the now of the future.

As long as you can access right now, your energy builds. You feel it swell within you. You're not doing nothing right now. And no, this is not the voice of rationalization. This is the voice of knowing.

You are growing.

Flower petals fall nearby. Some float some sink. That'll be me soon. A flash. A whirl. Loops and loops I circulate and grow and flourish and die. Like a time lapse but all in one flash. That's what time could be, if I experienced it relative to the whole span.

I'm glad I don't.

I like the slowness. I will savor it like sweet honey.

The plants change and grow and sway. They dance. The birds sing and drift in the frays of the wind. Fountains spray and scatter, thousands of impact points from one tiny source.

I'm aware of the changes once again.

People around me, always changing. Paths moving. Feet turning. I feel the ground lifting me when I step. I wonder if it feels me. Every person I see is also the world experiencing itself. I wonder what their experiences are like.

I'm not the same me as I was yesterday. Or when I wrote this. Us people are not the same me’s either. Seems like a lot of me’s for me to be the center. I'm not. I'm glad I'm not. That'd be a boring world.

The sun has set over the silhouette of the houses. Houses with foundations. I wonder if my foundation is strong. Then again, I'm not a house. I'm not a flower. I'm not the wind, a cloud, or a bird. Maybe I'm all these things and none of them. Maybe this is how metaphors work. They're rooted in myths that all collaborate to convey some collection of meanings that might be reality. Or at least an experience. The me experience.

I'm a collection of metaphors. I'm a biome of bridges. I am the world making sense of itself.

And you are too.

Pretty weird, huh?