Finally I am in the room, tracing the thread of time, it is not so far, he is somewhere in this room. Instead of controlling me by a thread, the puppeteer has stimulated me by envisioning different rooms with different sizes, materials and colors in front of my eyes. His action is pri... or to mine, he is always one step ahead. He always puts me in a situation, shows me a way, my eyes were his eyes, my thought was his thought, I was a mirror in which he realized himself, experienced himself. I have no will, what is here is his will. My will belongs to him. Perhaps I, my conscious will, is not mine, it is his. Perhaps I am him, or at least a part of him. The part which he is not aware of, the part of his unconscious mind. When a puppeteer animates the puppets on the end of the strings he does not think they are animating him. I do not know whether he is directing me or I am the one who is directing the man in the room, am I the puppet or the Puppeteer, or maybe both?
Our bodies are not our last boundaries. Our boundaries extend as much as our imagination could go. If what we understood as self is an illusion, then this illusion could go beyond our body and take all the people of a society, earth or even the whole universe. It could reach infinitely. We could be gods or creatures, both of them, none of them, or a reflection in the Maya.
"We are the only mortal non-believers who have ever lived and will live on earth from past to the end of time. Neither like our ancestors who believed in Paradise, nor like our descendants who will be immortal, we are the only true children of Now. Marduk"
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