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Me: Speak to me of origins.
Me too: To consider origins, one must step outside of the self. Consider the self as a moebius strip with no beginning or end, just a cyclical stream. Thus is the self and thus is time. So to consider origins, one must step outside.
Me: Outside? Outside where? How can I be outside of everything.
Me too: The interconnected clock gears that make up the universe are all in motion, in a dance relative to one another. To step outside, find a door and walk through, and enter a different dance.
Me: Where might I find such a door?
Me too: I don't really know, but I hear of them now and again. Some find them in meditation. Some find them during walks in the woods. I would say that if you stepped through one, you might see the big picture - sort of like observing a disk spin from a point above the disk, rather than trying to chart its motion while standing on it.
Me: but suppose I got involved in the relative dance of the "outside place" and failed to notice what I'd come to find?
Me too: That's always the risk, I suppose - and then how would you ever really know you were outside, if everything looked exactly the same as before, but wasn't really...
Me too: To consider origins, one must step outside of the self. Consider the self as a moebius strip with no beginning or end, just a cyclical stream. Thus is the self and thus is time. So to consider origins, one must step outside.
Me: Outside? Outside where? How can I be outside of everything.
Me too: The interconnected clock gears that make up the universe are all in motion, in a dance relative to one another. To step outside, find a door and walk through, and enter a different dance.
Me: Where might I find such a door?
Me too: I don't really know, but I hear of them now and again. Some find them in meditation. Some find them during walks in the woods. I would say that if you stepped through one, you might see the big picture - sort of like observing a disk spin from a point above the disk, rather than trying to chart its motion while standing on it.
Me: but suppose I got involved in the relative dance of the "outside place" and failed to notice what I'd come to find?
Me too: That's always the risk, I suppose - and then how would you ever really know you were outside, if everything looked exactly the same as before, but wasn't really...
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The spaces between?
The flow?
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we are, because--
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Thinking in tangents...
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