Reality is an illusion, it is said because our mind is a great interpreter of its stimuli. Consciousness is not what we are, but what we think of ourselves.
It is enough to understand that the sensations conveyed by the different strings of our nerves reach the brain a little bit at the tail end. What we call consciousness would be the summary of the sum and sorting of the information received.
Isolate the right brain from the left, and two consciousnesses will be born, unable to communicate with each other. The world, as we perceive it, even if it is very real since we all operate through its net, is nonetheless a story that is constantly being reinvented.
And the narrative doesn’t stop there. Trees exchange with each other, even between species, information, carbon, and air. Cats hypnotize their masters so that a small virus could reach the felines’ intestines. Parasites cause butterflies to fly into the mouths of fish, and how many other living things act like ghosts?
There is so much going on that we have no idea about. We are made of atoms that have passed through I don’t know how many black holes. What are they doing to us?
It is said that matter, yes, the matter that we think is inanimate, has within it the capacity to awaken, not as we can do, but still capable of transmitting, of pushing forward what it carries.
What can we believe in the end? Everything, of course. We are not here to rebel but to participate.
You only have to flip a photo to believe you are among the stars. So…