I have this memory of visiting our philosophy professor at his house and talking about something painful. I remember telling him rather adamantly that I cannot be myself because I am in this world, around other people and I cannot be an aberration. And he asked me if I have heard the phrase "in this world but not of it."
What a simple line but enough to make me pause that day. Enough that I have carried it within me like a light to see better with, or a weight or voice to ground to some invisible truth.
Who am I, who are we?
In this world, but not of it...
When we light a candle, where does the flame come from? And what is the constant alchemy where everything is changing form all the time? The glow of the fire where there was "empty space" before, the wood of the matchstick now fire, and the hand that strikes the match has moved not just physically but been altered sensorily, even internally, as darkness gets replaced by light, a need gets met, some emotion quelled and contained--
all are in this world but not of it.
Everything stems from one's existence. If one does not exist nothing else exists. Everything, including this world, is of the universe. Air becomes breath, breath becomes air. Spaces become sight, sight becomes space. Stars become dust, dust becomes stars. So and so forth... One can see this, know this, wonder about this, feel this, and take part in this series of transformation, only when one exists.