The dreams are all too real. The stories can be played, paused, and stopped at will. And in some ways, more realistic than reality itself, or at least better than reality. So am I a butterfly dreaming of being Zhuangzi, or Zhuangzi dreaming of being a butterfly? I cannot tell anymore. And fear I am losing my mind.
The mind is a fiction, as is fear.
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The content of the fear of losing one’s mind is attachment to fallacy.
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The loss of mind is the beginning of the embodiment of truth.
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