Delusion

I am impersonal consciousness,

Yet personal drama rules my life.

I am all that is and omnipotent,

Yet, I struggle to control my environment.

I am free,

Yet, I feel imprisoned in my body.

I am the essence of time itself,

Yet, I can’t focus for more than a few secs.

I am the one,

Yet, I am no one.

What am I?

Am I a bundle of thoughts,

Advocating for a self,

That I have never truly seen?

Am I raw sensations,

Of a material body,

Made of quantum probabilities?

Am I a purely computational process,

That both exist and does not exist,

In Godel’s digital computer?

Am I a complex entanglement,

In Penrose’s quantum computer?

Am I a fundamental force of nature,

That binds space, time, all the leptons and bosons together?

Am I time itself,

Always changing,

In improbable directions.

Am I a wave in the ocean,

Only believing to be separate from it.

No! Right now,

I am just the one ridding a thought,

That is arguing for itself.

Is this love?

I look in the mirror,

But all I can see is you.

Is this love?

Is this another delusion,

Like when I was pretending to be my body?

I need to pierce this mystery,

But the more I search,

The more lost I seem to be.

The thought there is more,

Keep me from being whole now.

I am eager to merge back with the source,

Only being afraid to discover that I already have.

What am I? Something? Nothing? Everything?

How can I be a multitude of ones?

When the mind stops its chatter,

Let me rest in what I truly am: pure love.

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