Letter N1: Jottings

We do not own our mind, that is for sure. How else can we explain the thoughts that manifest themselves without the one’s effort of catching them? Or perhaps, we’ve been misled by our minds which, in the most realistic sense, is us. Who we are is not the body we have or the brain. Certainly not the organ itself. So we do not exist.

Whatever we have in our immediate sentiments; our indulgence, rivalry, our piety, or anything else that one who is a being would have is the one’s nature that was prescribed. What of it then? If these welter caused by the god within us, why not put first our divinity and worship it so we would not pursue or avoid anything, or crave nothing in what life puts before us. Even what happens to our bodily existence is no matter of concern. As Marcus Aurelius said, in the mind of one who is chastened and cleansed you will find no suppuration, no simmering ulcer, no sore festering under the skin. Fate does not catch him with his life unfulfilled, as one might speak of an actor leaving the stage before his part is finished and the play is over. Moreover, you will find nothing servile or pretentious, no dependence or alienation, nothing to answer for, no lurking fault.


If indeed we don’t own our thoughts and our beings, we have nothing to lose or fear from what we might discover in the confrontation with the unknown. Do not fear to address the self, as it’s what nature prescribed. Of course, no man is unerring.


The dream takes place in a village where the inhabitants were ape-like creatures. They were going to places as a bunch in a wagon, or in a trailer and eying me out with the prominent fear and the anger they have. Then I find myself in an abandoned, cold, dull building with broken windows and a high ceiling with many exits. When I step out, I see a big plane tree and a man with three apes playing under the clear sky. Possibly with a reflex, maybe to get their attention, I pick up a stone and throw it towards the tree. First stone doesn’t work, so I take the second one, and try again. Now I get their attention. Now they see me and I see them. I see the one man that was playing in the group was actually myself. When I descry and disturb myself in the purest form of my temperament, I am frozen and the self on the other end is now furious, running towards me with three beasts behind him. What to do when you encounter the darkness? What to do when the weather changes? Perhaps not the noblest but the most instinctive response is to run for the life you’ve been convincing yourself as the one you have no desires. Run to the building, and take the next exit. Wake up!

Wonder to myself; who were they and what would have happened if I had confronted them?


The reason is hard to find when you possessed by the blindness of your instinct of survival. Though, what on earth there is to value if it’s not your own survival? I must disagree. I should not console myself in the sense of having pleasure from my primitive acts but rather, have the release of having the control in accordance with my nature.

Things in themselves have no power upon me and I should own that.