What a difference,
between seeing oneself through thoughts, preconceptions (the mind) and that
prelinguistic, direct way of perceiving with no labeling whatsoever. When you
shift into the latter, you have a one-off, unique cocktail in your cup the
myriad constituents of which are ever varying in density, light, spaciousness,
texture, friction, flow. I’m fine, you say roughly. Fine? What does that mean
at a given moment? How are the countless dots connected whose momentarily outcome
is what you’re used to call the Self? The ordinary language acts like pinning
the butterfly. “I’m fine”, and you have done with it. Killed the butterfly.
Only art could offer an organic expression of those instants when one lives
from within.
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