Imagine a room in which there are boxes scattered around. Some are big and some are small. Some are open and some are closed. In each of these boxes is a loose stack of papers. Some thick and some thin. On each of these papers there is something written. Some papers are full of neatly scratched paragraphs while still others look like spider webs of lines. Thoughts scribbled here and there, some connecting, some not.
Now there you sit, in the center of the room. Everything in the room around you feels very familiar. Perhaps, this is because you have been in this room most of your life. Fiddling about here and there, thinking this, saying that. And over the years, all of those thoughts have been collected in boxes. Boxes which of course are scattered about the room. “How long has it been since I’ve been outside of this room?” you ask yourself, scribbling on the notepad in front of you.
Then that reminds you that there is a window, right next to the door, through which you rarely seem to go. It’s always there and, of course, that’s where light always come through, but it seems you’ve forgotten what’s outside. Then, you see outside that room there is infinite, beautiful thoughtless clarity. Outside that room exists all the answers. In fact, out there, since there are no questions, there is no need for answers. Outside that room there is pure and perfect perfection. Outside that room, exists everything and nothing at once. So why stay cooped up with your thoughts when there is such a vast beautiful world outside of them?