Oh, what do I see when I look at you?
What do you see when you look at me?
What do you see when we look at each other?
What do you see when we looks at me?
What do you see when we looks at us?
What’s the psychological weather like?
Do I want to see at all?
Do I want to be seen?
If vision travels in and out of a complex sphere of many dimensions, meanings and pains
Within the ego center of experience,
Is it then my identity that I must create to navigate my image?
And in what and how has it bonded to itself?
So what is real?
In the storybook of the self?
Do I see it in its reality?
Does it have a reality in its presence?
In its existence?
Who is looking?
Who is not looking?
Why look?
Why not look?
Aren’t we all seeds from the same variety of plant?
Why can we not find unification in the struggle of living?
What is the difference between my struggle and yours?
What is the struggle?
What kind of struggle fits our kind of seed?
My seed, your seed, our seed?
What is my difference from yours?
Is human life a ship sailing without a compass?
Is this at the core of our identity
Is our self trying to find a destination
In a life form that hasn’t one?
Are the foundations of “reality” just a chaotic form of a dream?
On the random movement of breeding and feeding?
Are we caught up in illusion’s place
To hide the desperation of meaning
Looking for denial and relief
From dilemma and disappointment?
Who am I, really?
Who are you, really?
What are humans, really?
What is the content of our species, really?
What is the destiny of false identity, really?
Who are we in reality?
I don’t find these questions to be very comfortable, they are disturbing to the illusion of peace and tranquility. This inquiry is all quite disturbing, life without God. No wonder religion took over reason in the quest of a candy life, compensating living in struggle and pain in the uncertain nature of one’s identity.
Am I strong enough to live in an uncertainty of my self importance?
Hard to say.
Not me…not me…not me…