Some may see where where these considerations lead us to a certain conclusion. That in some ways, perhaps even precisely in the same way as the matter of truth, consciousness is to us no more than a concept, a thing we are so very used to thinking of, or talking about as absolutely the real and in our possession; but which to us remains suspended as the more theoretical in nature. It is like following a trail of bread crumbs fully believing therefore a whole loaf exists (from which such fragments must originate)…somewhere, somehow…but of which we are only experiencing at best fragments and parts. Even parts that to us testify the whole of it is somewhere, surely. Not unlike knowing, of which we sometimes (oftimes?) think ourselves complete in having, we may come to find out we only possess in like fragments. The spaces between the frames we see and believe we know what we know…who knows?
But like the automobiles we use everyday, and the even more technologically sophisticated devices, for most of us it doesn’t matter how they work, only that they do. Mostly we don’t care about timing between pistons and valves anymore than we care about “electron flow” through the myriad channels in our handhelds, ignorance does not prevent us from their use. And generally (specifically?) to each, our minds and consciousness work “good enough for me”. Besides which, what can one do with a thing but be locked into its usage…even by it…when “it” tells you…”I’m all you (or anyone’s) got to go by. I’m even what tells you…you have it.”
But O! those dreams! Where something is betrayed. Waking I can consider routes, excuses, make plans, create in mind escapes…forge whatever is necessary to overcome threat(s) as they might present…but whence comes from same mind, self same self…such equipping with only water pistol to repel those who chase (in mind) with real guns, and real bullets…and fill the mind with terror? Or whatever forms of absurdity testify of complete inadequacy, total subjection, ineffable vulnerability. Yes, O, those dreams from same mind (?). Same mind that when waking so easily assumes…”But I have knowing! I can handle things!”
And yes, I can reach for blanket, touch a wife, look around familiar room and comfort myself…”that was not real”…yet…it is as absolutely real (and created in) same mind now looking for other and other feedback for assurance. I look to material, if I do, and think it is enough. But here’s the thing. The thing we try so desperately to get around, the thing it may well be such dreams will not allow us to escape, the reality I can only accept as metaphor to myself, and not the reality it is; and a thing of knowing…even if it be so deep and dark to us that we spend all our waking hours to avoid confronting squarely as the truth it is…all my material (as with all that is material, even that which is reached toward for comfort) is passing away. Even our “waking” knowing tells us this…but we find ourselves ill equipped to its handling, or ability to be “lived in”…everything we now see and believe know…is vanishing, and will, from before us. At any time, at any moment…”we” are over. Done. Finished. Though everything may even testify of this, even these fragments of other’s disappearing that are daily made known to us and too plain to be any comfort to or for us (as we live, if we do, only materially) we cannot see this…of, nor for ourselves. But something knows. Something knows…of what again can only be described as ineffable vulnerability. Too vulenrable…for any of us to handle with knowledge.
Knowledge of it is the knowledge that undoes our assumptions/presumptions about knowing.
We are subject to everything.
Masters…of nothing.
But who can live there?
Knowing one is not even master of his own mind?
For, if we were, who would ever allow for themselves even one troubling thought?
Everything is thrusting upon us…but who is aware?
Is the everything aware of what “it” is doing…to us?
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