Refutation

How long have I been awake
I do not know
How long have I been dreaming
I do not know

I — who

There is, again, this world —
But to this world, with this world
There is no one in particular
In relationship to it

Like an avatar in the game —
Something happens —
The game is switched on —
Mario sits in his car
The race begins

There’s the whole display:
The racetrack —
Things crossing the road
Falling, appearing, disappearing
Bending, stretching

And then — night
Sleep
Mario and the sights and sounds
Of the game are put away
And once again — morning

The birds’ sounds —
Do they hit my ears
Or do my ears hit them

How can I know
Can I really know

Sound is there —
And my ear — is it there too
In the same place as sound

But my ear is here
Is the sound not here too —
Where I am
Where I hear it
How can it be there

So too these sights
These thoughts
These sounds
This breath —
All of it, this tent
And all that’s within it —
Here

So Mario sees the game world —
Right where he is
Or is it out there
Outside him, in another space

He sees the world
In awareness
In his subjective space
And Mario thinks he is awake

But even if he thinks
The game world is within his mind
That he and the world are the same —
Made of pixels, dust, elements —

Still, Mario is not awake
Mario does not exist

Something sees Mario and the game world
With complete disinterest
Not even sees —
Just knits through
The dream world

Like the space knits through the game —
The same space that weaves the room
Outside the game
Is the space that weaves through it

Is it not strange

The space
In which the dream appears
Is not the space
In which the world appears

A new space-time is created
In the game world
In the dream world

But it can’t be truly new
It links to the space-time of the room
Where the body sleeps
Where the monitor appears
Displaying Mario’s world

Yet that space-time is fabricated —
Entirely in the context of the game world
Of the mind of the body that sleeps
Disconnected from the world outside

Is it not so

The body may dream eons within the dream
And outside, only moments may have passed

And so goes the world

Who cares

I am Mario
Here’s my race track
And the one outside

The one inside —
I do not know
I have no say

Poor Mario
Really

Mario, after going around the track
A thousand times
Being killed, resurrected
Finding himself always
On the same track

The body, too —
Sleeping and waking
Finding itself again
In the same world

May begin to see
That it is insubstantial
Along with the world it calls its own

That all is appearance
Including itself

But that doesn’t make Mario vain
Mario is vanity
Mario is appearance
As is the world

Mario doesn’t develop an ego
He does not harbour one

Appearance is what it
What the world is

Mario is not poor
Nor rich
Nor anything else
He is as he appears to be

And even if it awakens
Within the game world —
Whether he sees the world
As a flimsy display or as real —
What does it change

He’s still on the track
Still controlled
Still moving or sitting
At the will of the controller

So —
Does Mario really awaken
Can there be awakening within a dream

The eyes with which Mario sees —
Are they his
Do they exist

Of course not
He does not sense
Does not perceive

And so with this body —
The ears that hear birds
Are but appearances

The sounds are really heard
Sights are really seen
But not by the character
Not by Mario

They are seen
By the one asleep
By the one playing

What happens to Mario —
Whether it crashes or finishes the lap —
Is done by the gamer’s hand

So —

All these daily pursuits —
From morning till night
Are they not appearances

Not to the object
But in the subject

The subject is
The appearances appear
Seem to act
Move, live and die

The subject —
Both within and without
Neither here nor there

Appearances can never see
The true face of the subject

Neither can the subject see itself
Except by being the appearance

Game world does not appear to Mario
Mario does not perceive the world

I may think that this world appears to me —
To this body —
But the world does not appear to me

The body and the world
Are both the perceived

So who is perceiver then
The gamer
Awareness

But —
That awareness does not perceive
The perceived world either

How could it
Appearance does not exist

So — no perceiver
No perceived
No perception

Only hallucination

By whom
Not by me
I do not know

I — as Mario —
Can Never Know
What’s beyond
Period

I — as Mario —
Don’t even know what’s here
For what appears here
And what I am
Are one and the same —
Appearance

And I — as Mario —
Have no consciousness of my own
No awareness that belongs to me
With which to know
Or be aware
Or conscious of what’s here

So — what is the limit of knowing

This
That there is knowing
Functioning
Awareness-ing
Happening

And none of it is mine
None belongs to me

Knowing happens —
But there’s no knower
Functioning appears —
But no one who functions
Awareness-ing —
And no one aware

Mario sits and writes
Seeing that many other racers, too
Are sitting, writing —
Writing of the game world —
Its contours, attractions, dangers
How far it goes
Names of characters and races
Of past and future

Mario wonders what he would write
Knowing what he knows

That there’s knowing
And no one who knows

That there’s the world
And no one to whom it appears

There are things happening
And no one makes them happen

So
What can Mario write —
But this

Refutation

Of all that claim otherwise

That claim that there’s someone
Writing
Doing
Experiencing
Knowing

Knowing full well —

That all that’s written
By him and by others
Must be
Exactly
As it is