In one form or another, all objects are relatable as we see them without interruption and perceive them as they exist at the very moment of perception. That tree is related to that house; that flower to that bush; that path to the side of the road, and so on. Our observation is successive as long as we not interfere with it in any way. As long as we stay unmoved and unaltered. A bird may come out of the sky and land on a branch of that tree. We continue to consider the tree the same tree as before, even though it now has a creature clinging to one of its limbs. This succession, this immovable and imperceptible continuity is our way of operating with the world, and is also what leads us into the thought of “self” which, by its uninterrupted-ness with nature, is a relatable but distinct addition to our surroundings.
If our perceptions divert from one observation to another, we immediately perceive the changes and are able to distinguish the differences from what existed before. As it is with our thoughts. If we were reading and suddenly our mind drifts to another subject apart from what our eyes are following on the page, there arises a discernible change in the words in front of us. They no longer convey the same message as before. They’ve broken off from our perception which is now lost somewhere in our imagination. When our mind goes back to the page, we immediately notice that what we just read did not reach the same thought pattern as before and must be now read over to recapture the words. It’s the same with all objects. Once a perception is interrupted, even the slightest change can be observed if we imagine on what we’d noticed before. Should our perception be unmoved, should we stay within the same repose with the same viewpoint, even a branch falling from the tree would still not propel us into the thought that the tree is not the same as before. It is still as it was, but with one less limb. It is possible that if our focus changed and we turn back to the object, we may not notice the slightest difference and grant it to be the same. But the mere interruption of the succession of our thoughts is enough to alter the imagination into reflecting that there is something definitely altered in the object and at first we are unmoved by the difference, but soon, upon closer observation, notice that the object we’d been concerned with is absolutely not what we perceived before.
Our relation to all things, to matter in general, depends on our perception of what is around us. We notice change if our perceptions change. If we remain in total and absolute focus on an object, any alteration of that object in no way forces us to comprehend the difference from what it was before. Its appearance remains the same. An appearance changes when perceptions change. If I lay this pen down on the table and walk away, when I return to it I cannot recall if it remained in the same place or if it rolled somewhat. My mind cannot convince itself of either perception. The succession of our thoughts, uninterrupted, will always grant us a seemingly unalterable presence. It is the nature of all things to be relatable to us in some fashion. It is the diversity and distinctiveness which follows from thoughts interrupted, which perception operates on to present us with a succession of events. This sequence allows for the spontaneity of the immediacy of the moment, and the differences that emerge from each instance perpendicular to our perceptions, and outside of us so we can be convinced that we are not what we see, but apart from what we see as the “self.”
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