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Bluelight Crew
For you there is no birth or death, for you there is no mind, for you there is no bondage or liberation, no good or evil. Why do you shed tears, my child? Neither you nor I have name and form. You do not belong to that which is composed of the five objects of sense, such as sound; nor does that belong to you. You indeed are the supreme Reality. Why then do you suffer? Sages say that Reality is one only and the same. And through renunciation of attachment, the mind, which is one and many, ceases to exist.
If it is of the nature of the not-Self, how can there be Samahdi? If it is of the nature of the Self, how can there be Samahdi? If it is both "is" and "is not", how can there be Samahdi? If all is one and of the nature of freedom, how can there be Samahdi?
i could you give 100 + more tips to getting awakened your self but eh i feel like it might take you a few rebirths of seeking.
You're a bit condescending, you know that, huh?
What do you know about my birth, my death, my mind; the bondage and liberation, the notion of good and evil?
But I agree; we are merely projections of fragmented egos; a virus like a slithering snake assuring us we are something we are not. On that note, cheers.
The tears I shed are of amusement; you pick a part people like they were bits of Lego and think that you have reached some kind of truth.
Attachment - I bet you I live my life more detached from delusions than you, my dear friend. But, sure - you are Buddha under the Bodhi and I'm the cockaroach crawling
beneath the freezer, a murky world of dirt.
I've met your gods and they were nothing but smoke-screens; the only deity is death itself, but must've missed that somewhere in your neurosis.
But I like you anyway, Trip; you speak your heart, even if it would just contain the roaring sound of a man lost at sea, someone re-arrenging furniture in a building on fire.
I envy your hubris, and I'm not using that word as a put-down; and still I just want to hug you and tell you,
my silly little friend - there are no answers.
Keep your rebirths and let me rot away in silent oblivion six feet under when my time comes.
Take care, and don't choke on that big chunk of truth you keep chewing.

“In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.”