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I’m an Island

The mind is eternal, infinite, and spiritually potential. Unlike the encompassing body, it exists outside space and time. The body is not eternal and infinite, but instead decays and is webbed into the delusional reality matrix of now and here.
My reflection incarcerates me, envelopes me in a nauseating consciousness. Why? It nauseates me because I’m no longer free; I’m no longer infinite. Infinite means having no limits, and having no limits means beginning and ending nowhere, encompassing everything everywhere always. Therefore, from the point of view of an infinite being, nothing exists but it; it is totally, absolutely, and unconditionally everything and all that there is. To an un-reflected me, there are no others, not even the concept ‘others’. No ‘me’, no ‘you’, no ‘we’ no ‘they’ no ‘this’, no ‘that’, no ‘these’, no ‘those’. There is only ‘I’. In the entire Universe, there is only one identity, and it is ‘I’. It is that, no matter how many things may seem to you to exist, from the point of view of an infinite me, there exists only one thing, in only one place, at only one time, and all of that is and always is wholly itself, I.
By definition, I is mind and mind encompasses, or includes, or is, everything that there is, and therefore there exists — there can exist — no thing, no where, and no when, which it is not. Whatever is, it is. That is what being infinite is; living in the mind, means: Having no limits of any kind. No beginning and no end, no fixed centre and no circumference. No boundaries of any kind, neither in time nor in space, or in any other dimension; no specific form, either physical or conceptual, no name and no shape.
In order to make proper use of a mirror, a viewer must be able to distinguish himself or herself from everything else reflected in the glass, not to mention from the glass itself, and the room in which it is located, and the time and the space in which the reflection is occurring. It’s this reality that troubles me, bounds and limits me to self. I become no longer infinite; I’m dying.

About Silly Cats
Started in 2008 the blog has since then been discontinued... These are a selected few archived blog posts starting with the last post first. Silly Cats
Silly Cats Smoke Pipes
Exclamation of contempt occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern. This is the home to self-eradicating gluttony and feigned psychological-gratification. Get some red plonk, cigarettes, and some cake and succumb yourself to the fabricated sensations of pleasure galore. Don’t squander thoughts on hangovers, diets, and personal hygiene. Spend your days instead intoxicated and aggressive. Then die young of an overdose in a hotel room surrounded by prostitutes, in a poetic symphony of self-pity and artistic contempt. Label every man, woman, and child a parasitic monkey, shout "how dare you", spit out your fag in disgust, "Good day sir!" and slam a door!
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