You're still the same, aren't you? Black or white. You're the same. You know the feeling, yeah? Time passes you by and you're stuck in your head, everything moves forward while you spin in place. Hate and despondence wraps around you like a spider's web, pulling you in, spinning your doom, the more you struggle the tighter it weaves. Who am I? Who am I? Your mind and heart drift away, untouchable, you're aware of them, but touch them you cannot, they are locked behind the ice of your catatonia.
This grey wheel that spins without moving, this stasis dressed as motion. What do you choose? How do you fix it? Black or white? Insideness or outsideness? You've already chosen, it was already writ, both and neither at all, spinning between them, dance dance dance! That numbness speaks lies, it speaks all kinds of gold and silver ways, it wears a mask of the lamb1, but underneath--teeth, always teeth.
You could just pick a side, commit to the black of outsideness and total destruction, commit to the white of insideness and absolute creation, then maybe, maybe then I shall be free.
You already free. You've always been free.
The web, the wheel, samsara2, the ice, you made them all, behold they are thee! Every thread, every revolution, every catatonic depression, every screaming fit, every black out drunken night, every nod, every last chance: you made them all because you needed them, needed the excuse, needed the prison to rage against, you were always just falling your wyrd3, you've always been free, no matter what you tell yourself.
Who are you? Wrong question. What are you? Getting closer. Where are you? That's the correct question to be asking. The gap of heartbeats, the pause between breaths, the space between thoughts where somethingness and nothingness make love. The revolving stillness itself, not trapped within but rather defined by it, performing it, like a play, a one-person show with a grand audience of one.
This pattern splits and recombines, insideness explodes outward, outsidness collapse inward, what about you? You watch from your grey tower, neither playing nor abstaining, just spinning, spinning, spinning. The cosmic dance continues and you're the wallflower at your own party, too afraid to dance, too proud to leave, if only you could choose black, if only you could choose white.
This wheel, this play, this dance, its teaching you something. Not through words or wisdom but through exhaustion. Spin long enough so much that the spinning gets tiring, push the boulder4 and see yourself become its master. Revolve long enough and even the revolution becomes routine. The wheel teaches by wearing you down, wearing you out, wearing you through until you're threadbare with nothing less but the choices you've been avoiding.
When this moment comes, when you're so tired of being tired, so numb of being numb, rock bottom, so done of being undone, something within you breaks. Not the ice, not the ice, not even the wheel, it is not your chains that break, it is you that breaks. Through that crack, light or darkness, fire or void, something real enlightens you. You've been trying to ride both insideness and outsidness at once, no wonder you're ripping apart at the seams, you can't ford the river of samsara5 by idly standing in the middle, you have to choose a shore, any shore, just MOVE!
Movement requires believing you can move, and belief requires remember you once moved before, and you'll move again. Before the grey, before the wheel, before the ice locked everything in place, you moved, you chose, you were. You always will be.
Remember? No? I shall remind you: You are that same consciousness from whence Man took his first sapient thought, you are the first shaman discovering duality6, you are man building arks against the flood7, you are every ghost, every deity, you are the spark, the beginning, and the end, they're all just you, wearing different masks, playing different roles in this endless cosmic drama.
The grey wheel is just another mask. The ice, too. The web as well. All merely games you're playing with yourself, for yourself, by yourself. So what are -you- getting out of it? How much more can you take? What will you do? So quit the bullshit, play it fully. Choose black, choose white, choose the rainbow between them, but you must CHOOSE, you must give up so that you may have faith, let go and fall and see you are black and you are white and you are everything in between, there is no wisdom in avoiding choice, you must choose, you must play ball.
नास्ति देवोऽन्यो ब्रह्मणो बोधिर् एवास्या दूत
There is no god other than Brahman8; awakening alone is its messenger.
You are God pretending to be the Devil. You are the Awakening pretending to be the Dreamer. You are the Prophet pretending you are awaiting the Gospel.
What are you waiting for? You must change, so play ball, Son of Creation