Our life is not of our making, it is of our allowing.

This is not a link at all. It is a snippet from my Palm, one that as far as I know, I wrote though can’t really recall doing so! I like it and it is central to my philosophy.

Anything can be imagined, yet sometimes the mind is blank and nothing will come or it repeats the same image over and over. Imagination takes work, work to *allow* the images to present themselves. Yet if they present themselves, what do we have to do with their creation? What emerges from the void is not of our making but of our allowing. The emergence of experience is an autonomous process like the breath. We can stop and start it, allow it, but in the end it is life for ever re-emerging in us. Our life is not of our making, it is of our allowing.

Our experience of meaning is out of our hands, it is generated through a web or a net of previous givens.

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