- Joined
- Mar 2, 2024
- Messages
- 386
- Thread Author
- #1
I sit here, and I think.
But thinking is death, isn't it?
The more I think, the less I exist.
Or do I exist because I think?
No, I rot because I think. Rotting is existence, they said.
But if I stop thinking, am I dead? Or finally alive?
The mold on the walls—it exists; it doesn’t think.
Does that make it superior to me? Or am I just a slave to my own thoughts?
The bathroom mold laughs, a silent whisper in the cracks.
It doesn't wonder; it doesn’t need a purpose.
Purpose is a lie, right? But isn't that a thought?
Thinking is a trap, yet here I am—thinking about not thinking.
Every word contradicts the next. Deep thought-quakes tearing at the seams.
Should I stop the thoughts? Would that be freedom?
Or just another layer of self-deception?
Perhaps freedom is the mold, just being.
No thoughts, just existing, just rotting beautifully in the damp.
But is that freedom or just another cage?
A cage of stillness, of mindless existence.
Is thinking the true freedom, or are these mental chains?
Do I decay without thinking, or do I decay because of it?
The mold doesn’t care; it just is.
Shouldn’t I be the same?
Stop thinking, start decaying in peace,
But isn’t that just another thought?
But thinking is death, isn't it?
The more I think, the less I exist.
Or do I exist because I think?
No, I rot because I think. Rotting is existence, they said.
But if I stop thinking, am I dead? Or finally alive?
The mold on the walls—it exists; it doesn’t think.
Does that make it superior to me? Or am I just a slave to my own thoughts?
The bathroom mold laughs, a silent whisper in the cracks.
It doesn't wonder; it doesn’t need a purpose.
Purpose is a lie, right? But isn't that a thought?
Thinking is a trap, yet here I am—thinking about not thinking.
Every word contradicts the next. Deep thought-quakes tearing at the seams.
Should I stop the thoughts? Would that be freedom?
Or just another layer of self-deception?
Perhaps freedom is the mold, just being.
No thoughts, just existing, just rotting beautifully in the damp.
But is that freedom or just another cage?
A cage of stillness, of mindless existence.
Is thinking the true freedom, or are these mental chains?
Do I decay without thinking, or do I decay because of it?
The mold doesn’t care; it just is.
Shouldn’t I be the same?
Stop thinking, start decaying in peace,
But isn’t that just another thought?
. Yeah, does freedom relies on ceasing of thoughts? But as you say, isn't that just another layer of self-deception? What if I am not thinking? What if I am not reflecting? Is not this an attempt to fool myself by pretending to live on the present moment? I'm starting to think that as much as I repulse thoughts, I recognize the importance they have in understanding ourselves and our internal world, and one can keep on thinking 'But what does it means to understand or what does meaning even mean?', but words and thoughts tend to be misleading and so our representation of the world via our senses. Maybe we should strive for the middle path. Didn't Lord Buddha preach about it? Neither too much of this, nor too much of that, but the middle way.
