The VHS of Life


Entering this plane is like hitting a record button on a VHS recorder and watching the tape within getting smaller and smaller.

Due to holding on to past confusion as we enter, we begin life in the confusion of love.

Because of lost memory, we *look* around and whatever we *see* is what our understanding of love is.

Upon entering, we face many examples of reflections that show our confusion of love.tumblr_o9l9g85Ktq1s52d1io1_500

Our parents are the first time this confusion is reflected.

All we see within their actions are manifestations of the confusion of love that they hold within.

This causes us (the ones looking around wondering how love is *expressed*) to assume that this confusion is the way love is.

This begins the start of making sure the VHS player doesn’t continuously record confusions of love.

If so, the plot will always be “what love could be”.

All that is around us even when we’re not around our parents is a reflection of the confusion of love.

When we begin to explore the outside world, experiencing other reflections begins.

What our senses continuously experience is a reflection of the confusion of love.

These senses, are what creates the vision that displays on the VHS player.

Not knowing how to operate with this confusion, we continuously look at the vision the VHS player is displaying and assume that the senses are what is creating the plot of the vision we see.

Then one day, an epiphany occurs. We realize that there is more than the senses, so the senses aren’t what are causing these VHS visuals.


That is when the recorder is acknowledged and understood. This discovery begins the recorder becoming detached in continuing a plot of what love could be.

Until finally, the mighty recorder decides “Hm, I’m done writing this plot. I don’t need to figure out what love could be anymore.”

Afterward, all that the VHS player is “recording” IS love.

The plot no longer needs to go further

There’s nothing to figure out

There’s nothing to change

And with that satisfaction, the recorder ends the plot.

And nothing but the truth of love begins.


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