Here I am at last: free of my body. Without it, I remain aware—more aware and perceptive than I had ever been while trapped in that slowly rotting vessel. The light is ahead, just as I had heard that it would be. It radiates a warm invitation to approach and enter its domain. I gladly do so. I pass within.
It seems like I am drifting on a milky sea. It is warm and I wonder how I know of its warmth without the senses of my body. Can something without form or substance be regarded as buoyant and floating? I see more clearly without my eyes than with them, but sight is meaningless here at any rate. A featureless sky of white stretches out to every horizon, and no line demarcates where the satin sky touches the milky sea. The air is thick and rich. Somehow, even without my lungs, I breathe it in and out. In and out. I can vividly recall the feeling and sound of breathing. The illusion of slow respiration calms and intoxicates me. The heavy air no longer brings any sound to my new senses, but carries a pleasing fragrance. The aroma is completely unfamiliar and intensely pleasant. I feel my nothingness manifest what would once have been a smile.
I sense now that much time has passed—minutes or hours; centuries or millennia—I have no means to know. Nothing has changed in this unending reverie. I say ʻreverieʼ because that is what it is. I have come to realize that the perfection of paradise is indistinguishable from an empty and featureless void. Only my memories keep me aware now. I believe that without them I would simply melt into the sea or evaporate into the fragrant air. I know of Whiteʼs purity and perfection only because I can recall Black and the infinite army of Grays that march between them. I appreciate the fragrance more when I recall the stench of prior realities. I am bathed in loving kindness, and know its comfort due to the brutality and revulsion I witnessed and possessed. The perfect silence is not what I first came to realize as part of this state of existence. After passing into perfection, there were subtle ringing tones that would waft across the sea to my lingering perceptions. There were times when the perfect music filled me with a feeling similar to one I remember when adrenaline would flood my body. But this was a flood of pure joy. Still, I do rely on the memories of the cacophony of primitive music from my prior incarnations. I know hope because I remember despair; I know goodness because I have experienced the corruptions of evil. I know all of the opposites of this reality because we had created these abominations to give the bland purity of our home the special meaning it deserves. Perfection invented imperfection only to know itself by defining what it is not.
As my memories grow ancient and dim, I feel my self-awareness fading with them. I am confronting the irreversible eternal decision: to merge with the void of perfection and lose all identity, or to return to imperfection and preserve my awareness. I sense that I am less solid now than when I arrived, and I feel myself spreading out and becoming thin, transparent and ill-defined. Shall I allow myself to dissolve into the infinite perfection?
No. I have confronted this decision countless times and have always chosen to persist. I still wish to remain aware, and therefore I must re-stock my memories by once again enduring the experiences of imperfection. So, I choose to return to a dimension with contrast. To a dimension we manifested to simply define and preserve our own ability to know that we are. Once again, I will reassert my own reality by employing the illusions of impurity—immersion into a finite life within a physical universe.
My consciousness has left the milky sea and speeds across the galaxies. These early moments in the physical construct are always the finest as our acute awareness travels unfettered by notions of time or space. With the full faculties of infinite mind I perceive what an artful balance of beauty and terror we have manifested! Soon, my infinite mind will be asleep and I will be confined to the limits of the life illusion.
The intensity of every visitation to physical reality varies. Those who have longer and more intense life illusions are well-refreshed for a more sustaining return home. The more challenging the life experience, the greater the reward when the underlying infinite awareness blends again into its native perfection. Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
I find myself being drawn to a planet and dutifully yield to the life plan I have been given. My awareness descends and the journey into darkness is complete as I anchor myself to a dividing cell. The cell will grow into a complex living being and my infinite consciousness is almost immediately overwhelmed by the anesthesia of the life illusion. This is the way we designed the transit, and I have no choice but to surrender to the rules of the illusion. My last fully conscious thought drifts out of my anesthetized awareness — Iʼm back.
This story is my attempt to describe a recent experience I had while in a deep vipassana meditative state. I lack the confidence in my insights to assert the reality of this vision. I still feel that is more akin to a dream than a glimpse at hidden realities. However, even if it was a hallucination fabricated in my mind, it felt like a memory. With the workings of our brains and minds, it is presently impossible for me to distinguish the truth of these insights from the arrogant notions of my human mind. Perhaps nibhana is simply a decision to fade away into the void. The Buddha taught the concept of not-self — the relinquishing of any and all desires. Perhaps that is what it takes to never return to life and one just blissfully fades into the infinite without feeling compelled to return to life’s compulsions to cling to what is most likely an illusion. I am not prepared to make that decision yet, and so I suspect I will come back many many more times. The fear of what seems like non-existence is too strong in me to decide otherwise. Maybe one day — perhaps a million years from now — I will decide otherwise and merge with the infinite without fear or regret for abandoning my clinging to self-awareness.