There is no witness, only witnessing.
When the body falls away, all that is left is witnessing.
Consciousness is a verb.
Bodies – people, animals, trees, rivers or mountains are obscured witnessing.
Like a balloon containing air. Like fog hanging over a landscape. Like a webpage fronting the code.
The bodies are all made from the same building blocks, sharing most of their DNA.
Consciousness has no flavor, no color, so shape, no movement, but it feels like a flow, like a quiet lake or an ever so slight breeze.
I am just imagining that, between moments of witnessing.
Putting words to the experience seems futile and yet also like a most deserving effort.
Oh well, I tried. And I’ll try again.
I like “spiritual substance”. No color, no shape – no matter at all. Yet seems to be the actual (and indestructible) reality of all there is, more real than anything physical. And there is some sort of connection between the spiritual substance and the physical appearance, which I’m still trying to understand. I imagine that the spiritual substance is a thousand times more beautiful to the “spiritual senses” than matter is to our very limited physical senses.