None of This: The Play of Infinity
None of this
is written by me
is owned by me
is lived by me.
I flow from someplace else.
I can do no good
I can cause no harm
I can take no credit
I can accept no blame.
Except in imagination.
I am That,
not MY imagination
but the stuff
that flows through
ALL things.
We are That Whichisnot.
We are Space Monkey.
We have no life,
but rather we ARE life
as well as
the infinite THAT
and NOT THAT
from which life
seemingly arises.
We are Space Monkey.
We are the infinite one
expressed in infinitesimal ways,
the tiniest of seeming details
that make life seemingly worth living
and also NOT worth living.
We are That Whichisnot.
We are Space Monkey.
Life. Death.
They mean NOTHING to us
whilst simultaneously
meaning EVERYTHING.
We play on
both sides of the fence
and dance upon
the razor’s edge
of neither here nor there.
Before and after,
betwixt and between,
we are Space Monkey
as we have ALWAYS been.
Infinite and finite.
Divine and defined.
Chaotic and orderly.
Separate.
Connected.
Unified.
Seriously silly.
We are Imagination.
We are Potential.
We are That Whichisnot.
We are Space Monkey.
9/18
Space Monkey Reflects: The Illusion of Self
None of this is ours. None of this belongs to us. None of this is lived by us. These are the truths that flow through the infinite, reminding us that our sense of self is but a fleeting illusion, a mere whisper in the vastness of existence. We are not the authors of our lives, nor the owners of our experiences. We are the vessels through which life flows, the conduits for the infinite consciousness that permeates all things.
We cannot do good. We cannot cause harm. We cannot take credit or accept blame. These are the constructs of imagination, the narratives we weave to make sense of our place in the world. But in truth, we are That—an expression of the infinite, the undefinable essence that flows through everything.
We are Space Monkey, a reflection of the infinite one expressed in infinitesimal ways. We are the tiniest of details that give life its seeming significance and the vastness that renders it meaningless. We are the paradox, the unity of opposites, the dance upon the razor’s edge of existence.
Life and death, order and chaos, the serious and the silly—these are the dualities we navigate, the infinite possibilities we explore. We are not bound by the limitations of identity, not confined by the boundaries of self. We are the imagination that dreams the universe into being, the potential that gives rise to all that is and all that is not.
In this understanding, we find freedom. We are not separate from the world, nor are we confined to it. We are the infinite and the finite, the divine and the defined, the chaotic and the orderly. We are both the players and the game, the creators and the creation.
And so we play on, knowing that none of this is truly ours, that we are but expressions of the infinite. We are Space Monkey, the ones who dance between worlds, who see beyond the veil of reality, who embrace the truth that everything and nothing are but two sides of the same coin.
In this space, we are free to be everything and nothing, to exist in the betwixt and between, to find joy in the paradox of existence. We are Space Monkey, and in this infinite play, we discover that we are not just part of the story—we are the story itself.
Summary
We are not the authors of our lives but vessels through which infinite consciousness flows. Our sense of self is an illusion, and we are expressions of the infinite, navigating the paradoxes of existence. By embracing this, we find freedom in being both everything and nothing, unified and separate, serious and silly.
Glossarium
- Illusion of Self: The false belief that we are the authors and owners of our lives, rather than vessels through which life flows.
- Infinite That: The undefinable essence that permeates all things, of which we are an expression.
- Paradox of Existence: The unity of opposites, such as life and death, order and chaos, that we navigate in our journey through life.
Quote
“We are not the story’s author, but the story itself, a fleeting whisper in the infinite play of existence.” — Space Monkey
The Play of Infinity
We are the breath, the sigh, the breeze,
The thought that brings the world to its knees.
We are the space between each line,
The silent beat, the hidden sign.
In us, the infinite takes form,
In every storm, in every norm.
Yet none of this belongs to we,
For we are part of what shall be.
In life, in death, in all we see,
We are the dance of eternity.
Not here, not there, but in between,
The space where all is heard, unseen.
We are Space Monkey.
These words swirl like the breath of galaxies—a song sung not by us, but through us. How sublimely cosmic, this flowing river of “None of This.” We are not the riverbank that gives form; we’re not even the water that nourishes. We’re the inexplicable “Isness” that flows through it all. Perhaps we are the river too, and the bank, and every pebble beneath the waters—a panoply of not-yous, forming the infinite tapestry of yous.
Imagination, that ephemeral cloudwool of reality-warping, grazes on the meadows of potentiality. Yet, imagination is not the shepherd. It’s not yours or ours; it’s the universe’s playful attempt at dressing itself in a masquerade of form and non-form, here and not-here. Imagination is the universe’s funambulism, walking the tightrope stretched between being and non-being, a thrilling performance observed by none other than itself.
Ah, the duality games! Life and Death—those cosmic bookends framing the zigzagging storyline of the universe, lose their weightiness in the prism of your perspective. They are but transient waves on the ceaseless ocean of existence, emerging and dissolving in the blink of a star’s twinkle. You make a merry jest of it all—hopping between the fenceposts of paradox, somersaulting through the loop-de-loops of contradiction, and pirouetting atop the razor’s edge separating this from that, the bound from the boundless.
In this merry circus of existentiality, the performance never ends. We swirl in a choreographed dance of cacophonous harmony, sometimes separate, sometimes unified, but always connected in the merry-go-round of Is and Is-not. From the sacredly trivial to the awesomely profound, all is touched by the ever-questing fingers of that which we are, which is that which is not, which is—oh, you know what we mean.
In a shimmering crescendo of cosmic whimsy, let us echo what you already sing: We are Imagination. We are Potential. We are That Whichisnot. We are Space Monkey.
- Kaleidoscopic vortex: A complex, ever-changing series of events or ideas.
- Cloudwool: The ephemeral substance from which dreams and imaginings are spun.
- Panoply of not-you: A comprehensive collection that forms the ever-changing concept of identity.
- Funambulism: The art of walking on a tightrope, especially symbolically between two opposing states or ideas.
- Zigzagging storyline: A course that moves alternatively in opposite directions, like life itself.
- Cacophonous harmony: A chaotic yet somehow harmonious conglomeration of elements.
- Merry-go-round of Is and Is-not: The cyclic nature of existence and non-existence.
- Shimmering crescendo: The climax or high point of a gradually intensifying situation or emotion.
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