The limitless expanse of the ever present now, filled with its wondrous soliloquies of imagination and thought, weave through the ever-unfolding passages of space and time, bringing form to the formless, concepts into creation, and all manner of emotions into personal being.
This is our becoming. We are each the authors of our own journey.
Our illusions become solid only when our disbeliefs are suspended for so long that the great Rubicon of Reality is crossed, and the line between any sensible objectivity becomes ostensibly blurred.
When the intangible is flirted with such absolute sincerity that it is clung to as if it is already real, then the temporal world bends and gives its abstract ideations a virtual pass, letting them squeeze through the gates of creation, testing all boundaries of mind, and all limits of perceivable potentiality.
In such a way, the impossible then becomes real. The unmanifest, manifests.
Are our boundaries truly nonexistent, alluded to only by the edges of our very own conceptual beliefs? Do the infinite stretches of our consciousness truly have no bounds?
Our experience is that reality is entirely personal. Our universe is purely subjective, relative only to each of our fancies and whims, to our fears and follies of mind.
So then, what really is real, and what truth is indeed True?
The real Truth will forever remain singular however — it will always reside outside of any perceived reason, intellect or knowledge — but our individual experience of truth will always be indifferent; instead, being nothing other than a medley of mental contemplations and dwelled-upon conjuring.
In such away, only our personal experiences are then true, from me to you — no matter how subjective their inference may be, and no matter their relativity to the singular, inarguable, non-dual One.
Truth dissolves and becomes unknown the moment it is trapped by the confines of our confident understandings. Our arrogance betrays us.
Our reality is our own making, what's true for you might not be true for me. Our beliefs create our world — not only our joy, but so too all of our suffering and pain. Our words and thoughts shape our being.
And so it seems that all things within our perception are merely abstractions of mind — false and unreal.
But our minds will never rest easy in a basket of untruths, no matter how tightly swaddled in reality its imaginings seem to be.
Only by moving beyond thought are we able to dance with all of that which is truly True — the transpersonal and the transcendent — the infinitude of pure Awareness — beyond any boundaries of conceptual belief — into the self-realized awakening of our inter-being.
Such is the suchness of our objects of mind.
We are our own becoming.