There is only a living, breathing now; everything happens in this narrow opening; it has to be there for everything else to be at all.
Now is a peculiarity of consciousness. In this infinitely small place the infinitely large cosmos is experienced. We are at once the site and the occasion in which the infinitely large fits into the infinitely small: We are black holes scattered in the void.
In and through the now we experience ourselves as human beings inside a world, but this world itself, including our humanity, is something experienced inside our consciousness; we experience the world as something that contains us, but this experience is itself something contained in our consciousness. To be more precise: The world that contains consciousness is itself contained in consciousness! How strange is that?! Yet few of us ponder this mystery. Ponder my friend, for therein lies the secret of all secrets.
There is a breathing now in the depths of void; its breath makes the tale of Being. In its exhale we are thrown into existence; in its inhale we are sucked into oblivion.
This living, breathing, eternal now daydreams both me and the world.
There dwells in the void only a singularity, a whirling dervish, whose dance makes Maya: We are all that.
My friend, existence is a misunderstanding, world a hearsay, and I am just a word.
Yet there is concealed behind this I the I of all Is: We are all the many faces of that one whirling dervish whose breath is the eternal now and whose dance is the ephemeral Maya the Noema.