- Be extremely present.
- Set inspiring music.
- Set a positive intention. (“This is what I want to experience.”)
- Life will become an ever-flowing river.
- I will appreciate being a human.
- To relax, you may try to:
- Listen to the music beforehand.
- Meditate or do breathwork.
- Observe nature.
Nihilism is a viewpoint that everything which reality stands upon is meaningless. Life is a groundless contraption, says nihilism. You are nothing but a speckle of dust in its expansion and contraction.
Nihilism inherently defies itself. It self-destructs. To say life is meaningless must itself be meaningless. This contradicts the extreme pessimism that is often associated with nihilism. Suffering arises from your identification with meaninglessness, from assuming it has a meaning. You are an ocean. You are life. You are Love.
Nihilism is like the dark night of the soul. Just a step away from a bright dawn. As you expand your consciousness further, negative feelings dissipate, for you surrender to the cosmic hum. When you give up your human identity, it isn’t foolish to unconditionally trust. A ripple cannot harm the ocean, same as an eye cannot cut itself.
Let the following experience be natural. Whatever purpose you are seeking you already are. You are not seeking a purpose of somebody else. Not of some future you. Whatever you seek is buried within you now. Otherwise you would not be seeking it, for it would not exist! You only think meaning is hidden from you. You have played a masterful trick on yourself. You are desperately seeking that-which-already-is. You are seeking it because you already have it because you value it. You fool! It’s your love!
It is alright to cry. The music is here to soothe you.
My hands are shaking. A magnificent attempt is being made to convey a truth. To you. To myself. To our common roots, forgotten. While your perception is hopping from a sentence to sentence, try to also remember: You were the one laying the pen.
Your eyes are bursting into tears. You have written this text to yourself. In the meantime, you were a stork and a jackdaw. The writing has reached you, and therefore it has reached me because we are one.
We do not retrieve one another’s memories. My beloved Atlantis, the vow to set out on adventure is as old and sore as our knees. My lips are longing to meet yours again. Our hearts are throbbing like the Center of the Universe. Inseparably bonded for eternity by an ocean.
My purpose of writing Journeys Beyond Earth is nothing else than seeing you in tears. I wish that my words overwhelm you. That you dissolve in the ever-bonding love between us. The epiphany will smite from within, yet worry not. The river of life will sway you.
Awaken, I call out – a rift appearing in a swarm of clouds. Revoke the unrelenting ego – the skies are clearing as I shout. The music guides you. I guide you. Rest. You are not ever alone. Notice how my speech is affecting you. Breathe… Each sensation is a movement of blood in your veins. A wormhole, so to say, a cosmic vault from one instance to another. You are a traveler hopping moments.
Judgment no longer burdens you. Within you shines a magnificent temple. A sun radiates where the heart resides. Waterfalls murmur where the blood circulates. All while the breath passes through an opulent temple. A picture painted from the Aztecs’ history… This is you.
Then: A subtle remembrance arises. Stars align. You scent a wisp in the air – a leak of something greater you had once been. Do not indulge in ruminating about the meaning of the incoming paragraphs. Feel into their presence instead. You have written them to yourself, remember? The more your ego shrinks, the more you recollect the spellbinding nature of life. You remember who you have always been. You remember what you have been through. Not as a petty little human but as the whole universe. You remember…
The subtle disappearing of summer when little prevailed of August’s tempests. Glades reflected the golden setting sun. The air was warm like an oven. Leaves had inhaled a palette shade. Mystery and anticipation hung in the air. Lord Autumn cantered on harnessed horses. Remember?
The aesthetic overflow of a storm onto a field. Your body was barely holding against a gale as it chafed the grain. Your arms were wide open. In the air squealed a madman’s laughter. Mother Nature’s frenzy was ardent. Long you had sought to taste her fury. Droplets of rain were dripping off your shoulders, which quivered in ecstasy. Remember?
The gut-wrenching, yet intriguing presence of illusions. You were a soldier who saw through the foolishness of war. You could not bear the self-constructed reality any longer. You started hallucinating over the corpses of your fallen comrades. You were so exhausted of war that you saw fairies which were not there sitting in ditches, talking about the wonderful face of existence. Remember?
The compulsion to explore a rabbit hole, wherein dwelled a talking rabbit. You were willing to abandon your origin; to have your memory erased. Why? Only to feel the gust of wind for the first time again. Remember?
The middle of a snow-hazed forest, where winter had laid its spell. You were treading on a crispy snow-covered path. The sky looked as if there might be more snow before night. The forest proved to be a good companion for driving away sorrow. Remember?
Old blissful days of ignorance. Do you remember the days in which childhood magic permeated through the framework of reality…? When the not-knowing penetrated deep into your bones? Remember?
The melancholic vanity over a fading chapter. Our blue planet loomed behind a spacecraft’s window. Your hands were pressed against the glass, trembling in bliss. The air felt thick. You were self-reflecting. A rose’s petals were wilting. One life had ended, one just begun. The wheel spun over – you were immortal. Remember?
The ruthlessly peaceful temper of Nature – the downpour of sadness when a lion shredded a gazelle. You realized that objectively human life was as important as that of a cell. Remember?
The bloodcurdling, yet captivating journey of the Nautilus for twenty thousand leagues under the sea. Captain Nemo’s silvery beard. The fragrance which the word ‘noble’ evoked in you. Remember?
The expectation of unforeseen mysteries. In the year of grace 1926, you were a young treasure hunter. You were travelling through a desert in a puffing express. The locomotive roared and sizzled and cawed like a black crow. Life, a vast stretching field, was ready for your exploration. No middlemen stood between you and the frontline. Remember?
Listen to the music now. It will help you recognize what you are feeling.
And now, think: How many extraordinaire visions have you felt since the beginning of this writing? Do you even remember the first paragraph? Or the title? You do not. You have diverted your attention elsewhere. How can a paragraph, which is not constant, ever bind together the entire meaning of life? See? Nihilism is merely a thought beclouding your pure mind. A cloud is a stance treated for too long. Your memory and a lack thereof are a thin ledge, beneath which whirrs a descent into madness. You are self-constructing your reality by treating thoughts for a prolonged period of time. They appear stable, for you have forgotten the groundless veil beneath. But same as nihilism, they can be dropped and forgotten. Dare to remember?
Perhaps you are not human – perhaps mortem is an appearing thought. Perhaps you are not on Earth – perhaps space is an appearing thought. Perhaps by dissolving psychological boundaries, you would realize that you have always been free to go in all directions.
Perhaps the third dimension is a construct as well – a mental construct keeping you locked from reaching the Center of the Earth. If so, the notion of space would be a belief. You would be free to venture anywhere. You would not be constrained to a country. This would not be just Earth. This would be the center of all reality. As it happens, all things would become infinitely close and infinitely far away. The key to Shangri-La.