— Happy Thanksgiving! —
To a great extent, the perceiver is not (psychologically) separate from the perceived. If we go through life merely as a sequence of patterns (i.e., from one set of fragmentary psychological patterns to another… which is time), then are we truly living as a bona fide whole?
It may be that to be timelessly alive, one often exists beyond the patterns and the mere robotic recognition of patterns.
A poem by Wallace Stevens:
The Indigo Glass in the Grass
Which is real…
This bottle of indigo glass in the grass,
Or this bench with the pot of geraniums, the stained
mattress and the washed overalls drying in
Which of these truly contains the world?
Neither one, nor the two together.