Sometimes when I practice martial arts it feels as if I am observing myself. As I throw the same punch for the ten thousandth time, the same kick over and over that I have practiced for years, it is as if these movements are happening through me, as if I was ‘meant’ to move this way. The same thing happens when I write, it is as if the words are being written through me rather than by me, another voice that is not my own.
It seems almost natural to feel as if there is something else guiding me, my motions, my words, toward or from some purpose that is also not my own. Natural to the point that I GET it, yet still alien to me in the most emphatic sense of the word.
The conscious mind is a blip on the radar when contrasted with the scale of what the brain, and the mind, are actually doing at any given time. I realize that my motions when I practice martial arts have set deeply into my muscle memory, the patterns set deeply in my brain, as the bit of my brain that part of ‘me’ is mapped to is gone over again and again, the neurons firing in the same order as the time before, and before, and before that. This creates a sense of ‘otherness’ in myself, as my conscious mind is required less and less as more is handled automatically by the mental and physical infrastructure brought about by constant, repetitive training.
The same can be said when I write. It sometimes feels as if it is coming from ‘somewhere else’ because everything I write, the words, the order they are structured in, the rhetorical devices I might use, are all built of what I have written before, thought processes I have had before, and the current state of the complex web of patterns and ideas that comprise what I view to be ‘me’. Of course this ‘me’ is built of older patterns and ideas that have been refined or tossed aside, forever leaving their touch. The words come through me, from imprintations that run deeper than the narrow field of consciousness.
The abyss of the you that is not ‘you’ is deep. All we really have to work with at any given time is a sliver of consciousness, a microfraction of a live stream of data being mapped to our brain on a scale that would make any supercomputers metaphorical jaw drop to the floor. It’s all in there, it’s all ‘you’, yet mostly it is stuff you will never consciously remember or think about, but it’s there. This is the pool drawn from by the spiritualists and mystics of the world.
It’s a false duality. The conscious mind, whether actor or observer, is simply a phenomenon we create. The complex machine we are is much more than our ego and our language to describe it, yet we sequester ourselves within our egos as we strive to put boundaries on our world, and in so doing creating a divide with the rest..the abyss that exists within us.
Herein are where Gods pass on their revelations to their prophets, and herein is where the hereafter was born. The ‘other’ is simply ‘the rest’ once you close the gap, and truly realize the great lie of the Magi.