"Who" we are

[Nydex]

Every person that you have ever met has a different image of your in their head.

You see yourself as something that is very different from what your parents, your significant other, your colleagues or your friends see.

In that sense, "who" you are is not something so easy to explain.

For some you are the funny guy. For others - the depressed. Your SO loves you, but the coworker who is shadowed by you hates you.

Never accept what you currently are as something that will stick around for too long. We are all an ongoing project. An ever-developing cosmic aggregation of emotions. A malleable slab of the rarest metal in the universe that is between the hammer (consciousness) and the anvil (subconsciousness).

Every subconscious urge or desire we experience precisely positions us and prepares us for the next thunderous strike of the hammer that is our conscious awakening. The strike resonates with us throughout our memories like an audible exhale of change itself.

Our consciousness constantly morphing;
Our dreams changing;
Our passions metamorphosing in either an extinguished ember, covered in the ash of our illusions, or what we refer to as our "meaning of life".

Embrace change. Whether you notice it or not - it is there. It always has been, and it always will be. In fact, it's the only thing that is absolutely certain.

Spread the love. Spread the good vibes.

Love you all.

(art: Robert Venosa - Melt)

 

[AikyO]

Realizing our true nature is only change eternal

This is where immortality lies ...

Maybe that's what the Universe, our moving Universe is. The decomposition of a higher dimension where everything is still, everything is one. No time, no space. All at the same time. And there is nothing else but that still spark, endless, yet to us it is change. Maybe what moves all things truly is empty ...

Then the cloud burst in a sea of tears, sadness and joy intertwined so intricately it cannot be differenciated, and we are those drops, the imagination of ourselves ...

(Who is this AMAZING art from?)

 

[Nydex]

Realizing our true nature is only change eternal

This is where immortality lies ...

Maybe that's what the Universe, our moving Universe is. The decomposition of a higher dimension where everything is still, everything is one. No time, no space. All at the same time. And there is nothing else but that still spark, endless, yet to us it is change. Maybe what moves all things truly is empty ...

Then the cloud burst in a sea of tears, sadness and joy intertwined so intricately it cannot be differenciated, and we are those drops, the imagination of ourselves ...

(Who is this AMAZING art from?)

Beautifully said, AikyO! I've edited the post to credit the artist.

 

[Doc Buxin]

It has always been infinitely easier for me to know who I am NOT.

Once one has peeled away the myriad layers of who one is not, all that is left, ultimately, is emptiness, pure, sacred, peaceful emptiness. And that is "who" I am...

I am the still center of centers deep inside (what the human world calls) "me" that only observes All, and is All simultaneously, neither preferring nor repulsed...Observing forever the ever changing dance & play of phenomena that begins & ends with the Eon and then is reborn again into another Eon, always and forever.

Infinite.



Peace

 

[thymamai]

Thought this was the other Who thread.

Your metal analogy is apt.

There was a moment I had some years ago, back when I was just getting into welding, I wrought in a similar notion. Our group had a morning meet with the metalurgist who worked out of the big barn just across the way from the farm house we were all staying for the summer, and you could tell that this man loved his craft and that life had shown him some things in his 40-50 some odd years. An Italian.. And he spoke with equal esteem and affection about matters of mundanity as well as matters of business.

I was not in my right mind. We had all been up late the previous night, drinking and playing music.. I had not slept and I was so hung over that it was all I could do to stand straight and at least feign an undivided attention. It was in that curious space, with his wise, accented prose washing over us that the serotonin began to flow as a result of my extreme physical exhaustion.. and I slipped into a kind of liminal state of consciousness, slingshotted by this man's words.

I felt I was hearing the language behind the language.. I was seeing the metal behind the metal, as he worked it and hammered his own soul into the ember on the anvil before us. There was a deep connection, in that moment, that we all shared with the many multitudinous metal novelties and with the words themselves.. I distinctly remember sensing that this man, whoever he was, understood something that I had not and that he was trying, almost desperately, to share it with us. That we are perhaps more than mere flesh and bones.. that perhaps man himself is not so unlike a metal. One forged and honed and refined and polished at the anvil and hearth of the seat of his perfection, his heart.

It was a curious thing. And although I said not a word I felt as though he were talking through me as much as I were hearing it with the rest of our small group, and all of us doing the talking. Through his words, through his work, through the metal itself.

I held out for as long as I could but the strain of my condition eventually proved too much and I relented, taking a knee to improve bloodflow and level my head a bit under the onsetting fuzziness; and the gears shifted and the clock.. inches forward.


I am much more about 'what's and 'where's and 'when's. And as for 'who' I am content with names alone. I don't know if there ever was in fact any more utility to it beyond names. Units of circumstance and ecologic merit. Each a wed-lock of unique premises. A symbol of something, and yet of many. There are simply no limits to what can be built.

 

[DmnStr8]

A Sermon of Iron

" “The world now exists as unforged steel, the fires of hell and the hammers of time push the impurities out until there is nothing left but a gleam.” He spoke with a certainty that bordered on fanaticism. His callused hand gripped leather bound to iron and moved swift against the black and grey lump. An orange glow spread out in the cracks of metal like tiny bolts of lightning. Each strike echoed in the forge like a thunderclap.

“What does that make you?” The apprentice’s words trembled with a curiosity tainted by fear.

“The devil.” His voice was stern and his eyes never left the anvil. He paused and sunk into a more gentle voice, gentle at least for a thirty-year blacksmith whose work had seen nine wars and countless minor skirmishes. “And God. Without the fire, nothing can be forged. Without metal, nothing can be worked. And without the crafter, nothing can be created. But alas I only work iron. Some men work the trees. Some men work the stone. Physicians work the flesh. Even the bards work words. We all do our part in shaping iron into steel. After eons pass, when God is satisfied with his creation then the almighty will wield his sword, but until that day, we are still seated on the anvil having the devils beat from us and the fire burning away our sins.” "

–The Dragon and the Hourglass