Materia

The body is a lie. The world, a hallucination of solidity. We grip it like it’s real, like it won’t dissolve in our hands. We worship form, fear its breaking, mourn its loss—as if it was ever ours to keep.

But matter is just consciousness slowed down. A trick of density. A shape energy takes before it shifts again. The bones, the blood, the stories we tell ourselves—they only hold as long as we believe in their weight. Beneath it all, something moves. Knows. Waits.

We mistake the physical for the real, but the real runs deeper. Energy before flesh. Thought before form. The unseen shaping the seen. The body, the mind, the world we walk through—nothing is fixed. Shift consciousness, and the body follows. Change the field, and matter rearranges itself.

We suffer because we mistake the mask for the face. We grip, we resist, we break—when all along, the point was to let go. The body isn’t failing you. The world isn’t crumbling. It’s just becoming. And you? You were never meant to stay the same.

Materia is not just what we touch. It’s what moves beneath. What responds. What waits to be rewritten.