There’s an underlying mechanism running in the background of our experience that seems to identify and label an experience as real and external, or unreal and with the source as the self. It’s tricky to even detect, and it seems like divine luck as to when it shows itself like the clouds parting. But it seems related to the giving up of a particular identity, or the relinquishing of it, the seeing it as a source of impermanence underneath which the original face shines.
There’s an underlying mechanism running in the background of our experience that seems to identify and label an experience as real and external, or unreal and with the source as the self.
It’s tricky to even detect, and it seems like divine luck as to when it shows itself like the clouds parting.
But it seems related to the giving up of a particular identity, or the relinquishing of it, the seeing it as a source of impermanence underneath which the original face shines.
Nothing is more real than what we really are. Nothing comes close to *feeling* as real either.