Thoughts as residues of perfect happiness occurence

How do thoughts form? What is the nature of thoughts? What is perfect happiness?

It starts by witnessing a new spontaneous unexpected natural Life occurrence.

The first thought “ego” forms by witnessing itself as a separated non-life entity, having its own separate existence.

Next, ego begins naming and recording each new unexpected natural Life occurrence.

This word-image conceptual recording is a thought.

The evernew is Life. This. This occurrence will never happen again. This occurrence has already passed by the time ego finished recording it. But it will never happen again.

We may say that thoughts are residues of Life’s passing, imprints left on the brain, gathered by ego as if they were precious stones. The moment a thought forms, Life has already moved on.

Life goes only forward. Life never goes back, therefore thoughts remain unknown to Life, remaining forever left behind.

Life and thoughts may mingle but never touch.

Now, having said this, one must establish two major clear visions.

First, I am Life. I am not ego, therefore all ego’s thoughts are aberrations to me.

I might tolerate one or two aberrations for a little while, pretend they apply to me, play with them, pretend they bind me, pretend they enslave me, pretend I believe them real, for the purpose of enjoying declaring them null afterwards … ah, that feeling of renewed freedom. Game over the moment I lose all interest.

I am spirit, not a body. This body is like a vase, or like a vehicle, like a pen, like a tool, like a plaything, like a little house, for I spirit to use for a while before I discard it.

Second, I must always be aware if this very moment I’m experiencing is reality of Life or ego’s dream. I must have a reality check method.

Let’s all recognize that perfect happiness comes with the decision to quit playing all games and be alive together. “That’s boring” cries ego in despair, while it makes the brain imagine all possibilities of boredom. Imagination is thoughts too.

Imagination cannot know Life.

… poetry … perhaps