I acutely feel this dimension of pleasure that is the very heart of the web of illusion.
I have understood that it is not simply a veil to be lifted or torn away, as is often said, but a ton of glue poured over our heads.
The aggregating agent is pleasure.
We remain in the illusion because we experience pleasure there.
Even knowing the suffering this dimension invites, even aware of the confinement that awaits us there, we dive back in, we go there because pleasure, the addiction to pleasure, is stronger than anything.
Breaking the chain of confinement, suddenly carried by the knowledge that illuminates us and lays bare the eternity of suffering that opens before us if we plunge back in.
To decide with the utmost firmness that from now on, it is over, these grids of suffering will no longer have any hold on us because we have connected, in our very being, with that which causes this age-old slumber; we have lifted our heads sufficiently from the omnipresent fabric to perceive its patterns and texture.
The fabric is the veil of illusion. It is not before us but wraps and constricts us in countless layers, prevents us from moving, encircles our stomach and chest.
The fabric is thick, sticky, damp, and also lines our inner pathways, sinks into our throats, and prevents the expression of our subtle physiologies.
Notes & Silence 