The darkest light

When I go deep enough. When I strip the layers, the wants and desires, the fears and apprehensions, and when I refuse death and admit I understand that nothing is inherent, then what I find, appearing as a tiny point, appearing to reside in my mind, imagined in my mind, but real, so real, surrounded by an empty, hovered as a single photon, I find the observer.

And the observer is nothing. The observer has no characteristics, no shape or size, there is nothing by which to distinguish, except that is and is because it observes. It wants nothing, it requires nothing, because it is nothing but is. And for some reason, it has found itself there, in my mind. But as it is nothing, it will perservere, and continue to observe amidst all the tumult that might be afflicted upon this form in which it happens to be travelling. The observer. Watching and listening, patient, it has no need and no where to be, for nothing needs nothing. Motion? Time? A recording? Or something altogether else. It does, and that is observe.

And this observer, it has with it a great stillness. It is almost frightening to be so still. So still. Because is nothing. And impartial to what it observes. For all observations there is equanimity.

And so I ask myself - what is this point? And its point? Why observe? Why exist at all, just to observe? I don't understand that yet. Its not obvious and I'm too slow. Except that that this observer does observe, through time that is why, and I can't help but think that it cannot be all absurd.

- posted by Sigurd11/17/2004 09:55:00 PM