How does life happen?
This is the question of the observer. After the journey of the seeker who longed to know the source of all things, Being sits down in the midst of everything and observes. It seems passive. Nothing seems to be happening. The Being is not doing. What are you observing exactly?
The curiosity underlying the question is quiet for it wants the pure truth. By what logic does Substance become something? I know where it comes from, but how and why anything does so still seem to be a great mystery. They say one must simply accept this unknown. However, if the Source itself can be known fully, then why not its nature too?
What is the truth of nature—that which requires no beliefs? Books burn and voices fade away, yet surely, something fundamental would remain regardless. What is it? Is it at all different from the Source? Is the end the same as its means?
Spontaneity is one word that comes up as I wonder how these letters are being pressed down as keys and made to appear as pixels. Of course, the mechanism of the digital word processor is another. What concerns us is not that path between the keys and the screen, but between the Source and the this seeming happening.
How does every breath bring itself out as inhales and exhales, all in perfect timing and intensity? How does each blood cell move through the vessels and do what they are supposed to do without some sort of plan or map through the complex body. How does the sun know to stay in place and the earth to move around it?
Sometimes things look like this: A happens and B follows, making it seem as though A caused B. I felt hunger, so I ate. I had an idea, so I wrote. It makes sense, and it is such a strongly pleasurable experience that even the mere thought of dissolving such causal relationship sounds absurd. But how come the sun does not move and yet seasons change? How come I can not think about breathing and my body would continue to do so?
The dichotomy between activity and passivity contradicts the premise of the singular source. Should they be mere two sides of the same coin, what is the coin itself?
Within the plant that stays in place are all these complex processes that keep on going without any need for commandments or plans.
An individual is born into the world in which so much already are and yet the world never was this eternal materiality. That cup of coffee could be solid matter that would eventually break down or some other material that had been perceived as solid and solid meaning nothing more than some slight differences with liquids and gasses. It came from this, this, and this. From land to crop to machine to store to house to cup—yet at this very moment, there is only this cup of coffee.
Life itself is pre-supposed.
If we did not need to breathe, we would not be breathing, naturally and inevitably. If we did not need love, neither would we be loving, naturally and inevitably.