Do You Remember, Another Lifetime at the Edge of Infinity

Do you remember when I was you and you were me? When we existed on the other end of the cosmos, or perhaps in another universe? Because there has never been a moment when our spirit wasn’t connected to the great essence, the bottomless ocean of consciousness. We’ve just forgotten. Yet here we are, experiencing it all now. Look around—see the technology, the creations, the potent 26 letters, language, the sky, the trees, even the dead fly on the floor. It’s all empty. And yet, what is reality?

Reality is perception. What we see, hear, touch, smell, taste, feel, and think—these are our bridges between the outer world and the mind. All empty whether we cross those bridges or not. Because time and space are eternal, a perfect circle. But here’s the truth: the outside world is not separate from the mind. It is a reflection of it. You and I are the same. We are one. The way we label existence defines how we experience it. The senses, the mind, the world—these are not separate things. They are a singular unfolding, an interconnected movement of eternal becoming. Heaven and hell, suffering and joy, arise in the mind.

And so, we learn to label correctly. Not as rigid truths, not with grasping or rejection, but with fluidity—empty of fixed meaning yet full of potential. A thing is only what we perceive it to be. When we label skillfully, we free ourselves. We begin to suffer less, become lighter, more open, more magnetic. And then… Only then can we meditate.

At first, we notice the mind is wild, ceaseless, churning. Exhausting thoughts arise by themselves, night and day, without pause. We think we are in control, but we are simply observing a machine at work. The grosser the mind, the more it clings—to self, to foolish identity, to the battle between ‘this’ and ‘that.’ We sit in meditation and watch this dance—sometimes joyful, sometimes tormented, sometimes restless, sometimes lost in fantasy. Yet all of it is just movement. And as it all eventually plays out we learn: it is not the thoughts that matter, but how we relate to them.

As we advance, the mind becomes subtle. It expands as a vast empty arena. It holds all knowledge without clinging to any of it. As one ridiculous show replaces another we learn to enjoy the hilarity. It no longer needs to struggle or think compulsively—it simply knows. This is where true meditation dissolves. We stop practicing it because it becomes our natural state. The self fades. We enter the flow. Consciousness ceases to be fragmented, and there is no separation between night and day you and me, the mind, once heavy with labels and resistance, becomes light, playful, free and enters the realm of all possibilities.

Compassion arises effortlessly. We no longer defend ourselves, no longer clutch at an illusory territory. We see suffering, and rather than reacting with judgment or avoidance, we hold it with understanding. Even suffering itself loses its sting as it becomes the source of all wisdom accumulated since the beginning of time because we no longer resist it becomes fleeting. The wheel turns. And we let it. Watching with an empty mind, that is the secret.

And then, the ego croaks in the background. It’s still there, but it no longer rules. It no longer bursts into anger or doubt or the need to prove something. It just shrugs, saying, "So what?" It’s all empty. And that’s beautiful. No fear for the future.

Because what was fear, anyway? Almost all of it was unnecessary—self-created, a whispering illusion. The future will come. And if we are wise, we will know there was never any reason to be afraid.

Just let it go. And it all subsides.

Buried in my continuum, my festering thoughts replaced,

should I wait for another moment, another lifetime,

when I have the courage to face myself…

and clean my room.

Adam Holden

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