This feeling has been here for a while. It comes and goes and with it comes a flurry of thoughts about reality, why nothing is real, what real can even be. The feeling itself is like a sensation of being elsewhere - the senses are still coming in from the body and there's an awareness of what the body is doing but the conscious part itself isn't actually present anymore. It's realised that what it was immersed in before is insignificant and fake. It sees through the body's eyes and hears through its ears but its actual presence is elsewhere, suspended, nowhere. It's almost like a feeling of floating, like any moment it's going to detach itself entirely from the body, everything will disperse like a dream.
The thoughts themselves...it tries to put it into words but no words will ever be enough. People are just characters. Consciousness is acting. Identity, when looked at more closely, turns out to be just a character bio; looked at even more closely, a sort of mathematical formula. Everything mirrors itself. It thought it was the body but some thin thread snapped and suddenly it was aware that the body is no more than an object and the things it does is not itself. It's not the body. It's not even within the body. It has some kind of connection to the body but the connection is loosened and it becomes clearer that the body is doing things without the thing that is aware of it putting in anything; the body is just an object manipulating itself and for some reason there was this consciousness believing that it was the things the body did - but now it sees that it's not. And everything that mattered before now fades into insignificance. Nothing matters anymore.
It feels like the truth. But it's much easier to act a part when you actually believe that you are that part. When you realise that it's all fake, just a play, and you're not even really present, things become complicated. What is the point of being a character interacting with other characters? What's the point of doing things to survive, of nourishing and resting your own cage?
Sorry if this has gone on for too long. Basically, I awoke in the middle of the night and looked at the ceiling to find that I wasn't really looking at the ceiling, just for some reason observing this body looking at the ceiling, and some kind of floating wave of realisation that neither the object being observed nor the one observing it were actually real. And it's persisted. I can't stop thinking about it and it's like nothing else matters. Not sure if this is dissociation or not...maybe it's just thinking a lot about life and seeing things for what they really are. I honestly don't know. Has anyone else felt like this?
I can't stop thinking about time, either, remembering things in a way that makes them as vivid as "now", having memories of things I don't think could really have happened come to me as if they were a dream. I say things to people (only online, and I rarely even talk this way anymore) about what they were thinking about or doing, things that I couldn't have known, and I honestly don't know if I'm actually opening up my mind or tricking myself, overthinking things, even going slightly crazy.
11 Dec 2013, 9:03 pm
