Near-death experience

elemental-truthYesterday I had a little bit of near-death experience. It wasn’t that near, but near enough that I contemplated it for a fraction of a second. I’m in the French Alps and my friend and I went for a drive to the top of the mountain for a little walk and when we came back down the twisty mountain road a guy was racing up the other way, we met him on a bend and his car was side-slipping at great speed right towards us, I was in the firing line if his car had hit us and I was joyous, I wasn’t scared at all, I was ready. My mind said “Is this it? Hit by a mat-black pimped-up rally car on the side of my favourite mountain, OK cool.” I wasn’t even slightly bothered about the prospect of dying, just a bit exhilarated.

To put this in context, I’ve recently had the truth of existence pointed out to me by Jed McKenna. For anyone even slightly interested in the enlightened perspective, then his is the most clearly articulated I’ve ever come across. I haven’t studied much Advaita Vedanta, but I get the idea, ask yourself who I really is and all that. And now I kind of get it, and it’s not a living reality yet, but I’m working on unpicking as much of my useless, fear-based social conditioning as is possible and it’s left me in a liberated, awe-struck, relaxed place. Nothing bothers me much any more. I never get angry, maybe sometimes a little out-of-sorts or sad, but the surface of this lake is pretty calm, even in the face of a possible death, and so it occurred to me that I suppose I should find a way of communicating this to my family and friends, so that they know there would be absolutely no need to mourn my passing. So I wrote a poem, cause I like writing poems. Or rather they like writing themselves through me.

I was never here,
And nor were you,
Where there’s just one,
We all saw two.

There is no ‘here’,
There is no ‘never’
Just nowhere,
Forever and ever.

There is no you,
There is no me,
Just consciousness,
For eternity.

So how can I die,
If I was never born?
And how can you grieve,
If there’s no one to mourn?

Some might feel like this undermines our perceived human relationships, arguably my mother might ask me if I was never born then who the hell did she spend 48 hours in labour trying to push out? The answer is I have no idea. I have no idea who she had sleepless nights feeding, soothing, turbulent times raising, teaching right from wrong. I have absolutely no idea what any of this is about. I have no idea how our reality seems so real when none of it can possibly be true, but here I am, unsure about my own perceived existence, never mind the supposed existence of a mother. How can I be sure she exists? ‘I am’ is all anyone can ever know, right Descartes?

So I know that I know nothing, and I accept that the perceived reality is un-provable and also exists outside of absolute truth, and I know that there is no I, for what would the ‘I’ consist of? Fragments of thought, belief, opinion, a made-up name, an unreliable set of memories, an ever-changing mirage of ‘atoms’ (whatever they supposedly are) masquerading as a physical form. It seems real, yet it’s clearly a dream. I’m half awake, groggily, trying to drag myself out of the slumber, to see for myself, the other side, to be awake, while the others sleep, to be true, in a swamp of false.

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