To come to see or understand in any way the “bind we are in” that is irresolvable to us and made real to us in and through consciousness is no small matter. To ourselves, if we speak of what we would call our own consciousness, it appears our sole touchstone and foundation upon which all is built that we would even call our self, or identify as ourselves. That “This is me of which I am sure“.
But once it is apprehended, or even barely seen, that there is that very attendant necessity of feedback to establish establishment, we see the bind. Like Rutherford, we see the space(s). Our surety is touched. For despite all our prior conviction of our own “oneness”, our perceived integrity of all the boundaries surveyed that hold our consciousness of our self, as to our self; we cannot bear of ourself such terror as comes in any notion (perception, sensing, even vague ideation) of total isolation. The “space” around us that allows us to define ourselves as ourselves and to ourselves…also speaks of isolation.
Make no mistake. Beware flippancy. Yes, here we can discuss such matters. We can be in exchange…about it or them. Just as we might talk about hunger or starvation thinking we know and touch certain truths about it…but we are talking about it at some remove. Yes, some space from it. Even our talking about it proves the remove…for the starving man has little interest in talk. His consciousness is narrowed to a singular pursuit, getting out from under that total pressing and exquisitely painful awareness of exquisitely narrowed focus.
Pain (or such as is described as such) has this effect. Its varying degrees may be acknowledged, its intensity to whatever measure may be considered…but pain in totality, not merely conceptualized, requires of us escape. There is no choice in or about this. And though to one the suffering of a scraped knee may generate wails to heaven while another plays through the pain with a broken hand, that point is moot. Our own responses may differ as observed outwardly by another, but both the scraped knee and broken hand produce a favoring, a focus upon the source now in, and made subject to pain. Relief is sought. Pain teaches things in a manner nothing else does, or can.
For some, if not any or many that might read even this, there is great pain. Not merely the pain of enduring another’s thoughts (which can be great enough) but an uncommon uncovering of a common and truly gaping wound found in any consciousness described as our own. It throbs there, pulsing, thrumming and humming out all motive, all motions as a dynamo flings out power…but in this, from the terror of isolation. Such painful terror has a product. Is it any wonder then…why we favor our own consciousness?
The abyss of already knowing it is in, yet churning out denial. It is caught. Needing to have space “around it” to know itself as itself, yet needing to bleed into another for such feedback that confirms it truly is. Needing itself, but of such desire to lose itself and loose itself from the terrors of isolation that all and any manner of lie suffices to it. It wants to be known as real but cannot without such feedback, yet denies to itself that that is the all that constitutes every motive. It is always and ever caught in reaching out and drawing back in all simultaneity. Too much given out, and it is gone to itself. Nothing given out (expressed) and it can never know of its own reality by any feedback of confirmation.
Yes, this is a real bind. The realest of all for man. He gives away agreement to the very end of having agreement. But knowing if he gives all away in agreement in order to have full confirmation of himself, he loses the very thing motivating himself to such confirmation, himself.
Yep, it’s the bind that makes all men liars.
The taker, the needer doing all and everything he can to fabricate the appearance as giver. So he can take. Such fabrication requires lots and lots of energy. And the pain of the terror of isolation…is sufficient to it.
Total isolation…and it cannot know itself as itself. Total “giving away” of itself, and it loses itself and is again, unable to know itself. And the consciousness of man would eat whole of universes before surrendering any notion of its persistent reality.
The “I am” that is in accompaniment of “therefore I must be”.
I tell you there is a consciousness unbound by any of “why”. There is nothing preceding it that such consciousness asks. Or would form any question to.
This consciousness questions and receives every question, but to itself and of itself, it not only does not hold one question of itself, it is an absurdity to consider such consciousness would. And that consciousness is not absurd; not merely because it never has nor does ever lie to itself (and therefore all others) but precisely because it is not of any need.
It can bleed into another without any loss of itself, it can withhold from another without any loss of confirming necessary to itself. “It” needs no agreement from man to be established to itself. It need not give. It need not…take.
Unlike you and I.
Which are all of need.
Created things.
Suspended in such sustaining.
By a “what” that has no need to.
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