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Search results for 'eternal sleep'

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1. The city as an eternal cycle of the cycle of instincts in nature. 2. City of sinners The city of sinners is a wasteland of illusion where people are lost in delusions, the city is blind and cynical. There are more and more cities and fewer people. The city diminishes the importance of human life. Life and experience is a commodity that creates new illusions that people call their goals for the sake of money ... The city is a great fog of illusion, a timeless trap of reincarnation life. A paradoxical dream of karma that confuses more and more. 3. Centrifuge for astronauts, karmic nostalgia Nostalgia is a thought that gives infinity to the karmic web of illusions. Changing the soul and mind beyond recognition. The mystery of life is a temporary loop of the reincarnation rails. The time trap of the mental labyrinth. Thought leading to the perfection of the mind. Thought is reborn. Sleep is an extension of reality. Sleep is a projector that projects philosophy into reality. There is no reality. This is an invention of the general subconscious, an invented world of people. Billions of projections of all people form a computer game. Through the subconscious, which rots from the instincts and paradoxes of selfishness. Everything moves into reality. The karmic labyrinth of illusions, both in a dream and in reality, moves and changes. In a web of illusions, intuition and awareness will turn everything into a lucid dream and give a healing insight. Free from the slavery of thought. Again and again in each new life, the same thought becomes philosophy, the meaning of life is like a centrifuge of reincarnation, you see hallucinations, but this is the truth of deja vu wormhole in the void. Holes in reincarnation and the wheel of samsara which increases pressure atmospheres. You are in a centrifuge, you think the world revolves around you, but in fact it is you that revolves around your selfishness. Atmospheres of pressure of healing insight increase. The brain is bleeding you are born. The biology of the body creates the illusion of hypper acceleration in the chrono incubator, the hypper of a person growing up like a flower in a pot that does not know the earth. Like a fish in an aquarium that everyone is looking at. Like a hamster in a cage that exists but does not live. And you will know the illusion of infinity in one century, hypper sleep, hypper accelerated maturation is given by the second hand of the clock. But amnesia in the new life washes everything away, it interferes with the renunciation of the past mistakes of life, which also reincarnate, and only deja vu and intuition reveal the veil of secrecy. A centrifuge for astronauts, karmic nostalgia is what keeps us in the labyrinth of illusions of the subconscious. 4. Time is a storm of karma and calm of hopes. 5. Wastelands of life lead to the shores of immortality. Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

Musin Almat ZhumabekovichRate it:

It little profits that an idle king,By this still hearth, among these barren crags,Matchd with an aged wife, I mete and doleUnequal laws unto a savage race,That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel; I will drinkLife to the lees. All times I have enjoydGreatly, have sufferd greatly, both with thoseThat loved me, and alone; on shore, and whenThro scudding drifts the rainy HyadesVext the dim sea. I am become a name;For always roaming with a hungry heartMuch have I seen and known,cities of menAnd manners, climates, councils, governments,Myself not least, but honord of them all,And drunk delight of battle with my peers,Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met;Yet all experience is an arch wherethroGleams that untravelld world whose margin fadesFor ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end,To rust unburnishd, not to shine in use!As tho to breathe were life! Life piled on lifeWere all too little, and of one to meLittle remains; but every hour is savedFrom that eternal silence, something more,A bringer of new things; and vile it wereFor some three suns to store and hoard myself,And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho much is taken, much abides; and thoWe are not now that strength which in old daysMoved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,One equal temper of heroic hearts,Made weak by time and fate, but strong in willTo strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron TennysonRate it:

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    • A. George Washington
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    • D. Mahatma Gandhi