Children of no Nationality

One of things I love about traveling is the people you meet. There are amazing people you will meet while traveling.

It’s so profound I’d call it magic; while traveling freely you’ll meet people whose very presence uplifts your entire worldview, as if their every breath is a bizarre mix of inspiration and inexhaustible bliss. People without judgments, without comparisons to this or that, just fellow humans who let go of all that silliness.

And it’s not necessarily other travelers, in fact, it really has nothing to do with travelers– it’s people (traveling or not) who are not on destination. They have no place to go except where they stand, and as such you are neither helping nor inhibiting them– there is only a simple curiosity and a spirit of exploration beyond the known.

And I don’t mean a select few amazing people, I mean hundreds, as many as you have the time and effort to meet– they’re out there.

Let yourself go into the world, truly lose yourself, and in losing yourself you’ll find an entire underground of these vagabonds, wanderers, children of no nationality — you’ll be welcomed like family; as you are, in every way metaphoric and literal (in the
grandest sense of life on earth), family.

Why is self an illusion?

Gnōthi seauton (γνῶθι σεαυτόν), know thyself.

But what is self? And why call it an illusion? Perhaps because you are, most literally, the continuation of everything that ever was, and the precursor to everything as it will be — the very limited delusion of ego and selfish desire fail to full capture, even in clever metaphor, the totality of existence.

How is a mind to abstract infinite silence? Thought, knowledge, and the very process of a mind cannot capture and constrain that which is beyond itself– beautiful as the illusions may be, there is freedom beyond the constraints of ego and selfish desire.