A Magical Box
Imagine a box.
A magical one.
Anything can appear and disappear in this box.
A fancy car, a deadly accident,
a sexy person, a bloody corpse,
a beautiful sky, a shitty sky,
a wealthy future, a penniless future,
a cruel act, a compassionate act,
a baby being born, a baby being killed,
people enjoying the ocean, the ocean killing people,
anything, everything, nothing. What a box.
There are ways to fill in this box. Mainly sensors, memory, imagination.
All my sensors serve this purpose. Whatever I receive from my sensors, it appears in this box. This happens here and now. There is also the past. Things are brought back into the box from the past, from memory. All joyful (nostalgic), all painful (melancholic) memories are replayed. I told you, this box is a magical one. There will be also future. Imagination, daydreaming, fantasy, paranoia. All the things that will make you happy or shit in your pants will be imagined and appear in this box.
My birth (past), my body (present), my death (future) are all stuck in this box.
My sorrow (past), my joy (now), my hope (future) are all stuck in this box.
I am stuck in this box. Everything which is me and mine are stuck in this box.
This box is like water, but a bit magical.
It takes the shape of anything it contains.
It becomes one with it.
There is some level of control in the box. I can bring back stuff in the box, the things from past, present, and future. This box is also sometimes out of control. Things appear in the box without my permission. Some of those things I can enjoy, but there are others causing me pain. I feel the most confident and happy when I am in control, and miserable and powerless when I am out of control over the happenings in the box.
I am some of those things in the box, and not some other ones.
Some of those things in the box are mine, and not some other ones.
I want some of those things in the box, and reject some other ones.
I want to stay in the box, as other things which I want to be mine.
I want my pain to disappear from the box, but I want my happiness to stay in the box.
I want to stay in the box forever.
I am made of stuff which changes.
I am change, but I want to be changeless.
I am confused.
I am funny.
I am confused.
I am a joke.
I am confused.
Am I real?
There is the box.
There are the things happening in the box.
There is a controller happening in the box.
There are the operations between the things and the box itself.
The nature of this box is almost like breathing. Sometimes I control it myself, but most of the time it happens by itself.
Am I the controller in the box?
Am I the things in the box?
Am I the box?
Is there a way to empty the box?
Will there be a box then?
What will I be then?
Where will I be then?
Did you see what we put in the box?