For the present, I had noticed the “nice side” of the Tunnel of Saksaksalim in this magickal exploration. The entertaining side, the nice place it showed me after I could play with my mind coherently. De-identification from my body and mind, floating as pure will. Quite a nice feeling, indeed, and quite a cognitive change of perspective.
Yet there is a darker side and I have to thank @emotionalcircus for helping me understand fully the way it has been affecting me as I’ve worked this tunnel. If the lighter side involves the bliss from de-identifying with the things in my perception, this darker side is the pain of identifying with anything, the base suffering that steams from considering I am my body, my mind, or whatever arbitrary parts of the theatrical staging of my perceptions in my brain scenario I am used to delusionally identify myself with.
For a long time I’ve known I have some sort of baseline suffering which has always seemed to me related with the very fact of existing. Not only my thing if the synchronicities are right, “most people howl their whole lives without understanding where the pain comes from”. As if there was no escape from that. And maybe, I only dare say maybe, I’ve found what this is about, maybe this baseline suffering is related with existing as a self which identifies itself with a part of its perception. But maybe, only maybe, being alive doesn’t necessarily result in such baseline suffering. Maybe its just this thing the self got wrong, identifying with its perception of a body or a mind when there’s really no “I”, there’s just these perceptions that come and go, and if there’s an I its just this ghostly and magical will that operates selecting realities, this thing which seems to be able to manipulate all these hallucinatory perceptions as far as it learns to fly free from the delusory constraints of all these perceptions.
— Florence Welch
I have to say “Things happen.”
I have to dwell on stones darkening the earth,
on the river ruined in its own duration:
I know nothing save things the birds have lost,
the sea I left behind, or my sister crying.
Why this abundance of places? Why does day lock
with day? Why the dark night swilling round
in our mouths? And why the dead?"
— Pablo Neruda, There’s No Forgetting (Sonata), in Selected Poems by Pablo Neruda (translated by Nathaniel Tarn)