My dear child,
Yesterday I felt nostalgic and decided to write you this letter. In doing that, at least for the next 10 minutes, we will walk side by side while following my thoughts.
Do you remember me visiting you in the maternity hospital the day you were born? What am I saying?! You can not possibly remember these years. Those years while you were yourself, it was like you were not. Yes, I can say with certainty it was you the person I was holding in my hands, the one I embraced with tenderness, the reason you don’t remember any of these is simply because your memory is not you. You are something else. And of course, you are not your body cells because all of your cells have changed since that time, including the very cells of your brain.
I am somehow scared by these thoughts I am having! I know you are my child, but what I see before me when we are together or when I think of you, has no continuity. All of the memories, the cells, and many of the feelings are nowhere to be found. It is ultimately as if the human being is a summation of an open architecture that leaks and other elements come to complement it.
Is a human something that exists only in what we call “now” with only a small time extension in the immediate past and in the immediate future?
From nostalgia, I passed to philosophy, and I remembered the cute story of the two wise men, one of which was always telling the truth and the other always lied, and you had only one question to find out who was who. If you asked the liar if he was telling the truth, he would reply, “Yes,” but the same answer was given as well by the truthful one. The solution is found in the question. We should always ask the right person the right question. Otherwise, the answers make no sense.
What were we talking about? Oh yes, that you are not YOU, but you are something else. And don’t think you are your body and organs because people can change even their hearts nowadays.
I, rightly or wrongly, do not believe that man is identified by his body or by any other functions he has. We are more than that. What we are, of course, is somewhat fluid. But unfortunately, in our attempt to understand what we are, we approach the issue through denials. We say what we are not, and not what we are. The reason is simple. This is the most accessible approach. And of course, we always ask the wrong questions to the wrong people.
We look at the universe and admit that we are part of it. But the universe has neither beginning nor end. Why do we want to put a beginning and an end to ourselves? Our consciousness is changing every now and then. Why not have our whole consciousness as a dowry, and we are obliged to identify it only in the present?
We say: “My head hurts, my hand hurts.” We say: “I made a thought.” Who is the one that made that thought, that has his own hands, feet, heart, and brain? I AM! And precisely who is the one that declares “I AM”?
Yesterday night in my dream, I was holding a lotus-shaped glass jar in my hand that had a little rose inside and gave it to a girl I knew. I called her today, and she told me that for the past two months, she participates in a Buddhist group. What did the hell happen? How did it happen? How many of our functions we are not aware of? Aren’t those ours as well?
A long time ago, a member of my family, saw in her dream my deceased mother-in-law, who told her to pass on to my wife the following message: “The ascension has taken place.” These days, in a book by a visionary writer, I was reading about the term “ascension.” My conclusion again has a “no” inside it. I do not know what’s going on! But as a reasonable creature, I owe it to the whole lot that characterizes the human being, to add many unknown qualities and possibilities.
Nonetheless, I, the Trismegistus, will choose what I like. What does it matter if Socrates was talking about the “demon”? I do not understand it, so I reject it. What I understand is wise, the rest is nonsense. So are all the quotes by Homer, by Young, by the Buddha and by all others who for me combine wisdom with absurdity at the same time in their words.
However, there are many times I’m looking for the lost link between the infinite and the unalterable universe within me. There is, I know it, and I try to make it tangible. The bad thing is that I have been identified with my inferior logic, which, of course, for survival reasons has cut off all that it is not entirely reasonable. This type of reasoning, of course, does not impose itself on the breathing nor the blood procedures or so many other body functions because we would not exist. The driver in the human-machine is neither the logic nor the brain. A ghost is roaming inside us and keeps the engine running. And this is how it should be done.
Before I finish my letter, let me tell you something cute. My nephew wanted to change his computer. When he made the change, I asked him why he was transferring in the new one all the information that was stored in the old one. He turned to me and said: “This info is my computer. The hardware is just a bunch of iron parts”.
You might have been tired, and I need to close this letter. I’m sure you have a question that I did not answer. I want you to do me a favor. Submit it to yourself with sincerity and clarity. One of the following few nights, in your sleep, you will see a dream. I have already set up the dream catcher. Write your dream down and come to discuss it with me.
Have a good night,