The home didn't seem to be so cozy, and I felt like an outsider surrounded by warm parents.

There was always a voice in my heart urging me to leave. The nausea and discomfort kept rolling in my heart. Why not ruin it all? Why not ruin the whole family?

It's not that I don't know that my parents cry, but it doesn't matter because you and I are not real. It's all the picture elements that we perceive at the moment, including you and me, and they're just picture elements.

The discomfort was like a swamp, slowly and gently devouring me. It is a ridiculous path, not surrounded by love and peace, nor by mercy, but by bloody slaughter.

Perhaps, this is not the path to truth at all. I don't care, though, I'm in good shape. If you think about it, I didn't add anything to my knowledge at all, on the contrary, I lost a lot of things.

I didn't gain new knowledge, I didn't have anything to recall. Instead of studying mathematics or physics or any specialized knowledge, you can think back to what you have learned. But my memories are blank, and I don't add any knowledge at all.

This path defies common sense, and it is always the harder you work, the more successful you are, and the richer your knowledge can lead you to higher peaks. But this road, on the contrary, is to see that one's knowledge is just a kind of nonsense, and forcibly let oneself change from wise to mentally handicapped.

But the sense of relaxation, like the skin of a newborn baby, makes people reluctant to leave at all. The world unfolds in its own form, and the notes of the stream are playing. I don't want to go back to the past, the ignorant life, the days when I was pulled by the twists in my head.

I'm going to die, I'm doomed to destruction, and I'm expecting that destruction. This is madness, this is slashing, and now I may be rotting. No one knows if there will be an end to this decay, and no one knows if a lotus flower will be born from it.

Perhaps, the Buddha's lotus flower has such a meaning. It grows out of the decaying mud, but the first thing to pass through is this puddle of silt. Of course, this is just my own speculation, after all, I am not done yet, maybe this puddle of rotting mud for the rest of my life.

I don't need to criticize anything at all, because everything is not real, everything in this world is not real. Maybe it makes sense, maybe it's sought after, maybe it's very much in line with the laws of the world, but it's not true after all.

If the infinite exists, then there is no room for the existence of the limit, right, the reason why the infinite is infinite is because of the infinite. If limitations exist, then infinity ceases to be infinite.

Infinity and limitation cannot exist at the same time.

Words are like landscape signs, not landscapes in themselves, but their meanings point to landscapes. But what can it point to? Is it possible to describe the scenery completely?

"I exist", that awareness, is all that can be described. Any other description is just imagination, it's just a metaphor. And metaphor, in itself, means "no". So, what exactly can words describe?

However, words can be slashed. I think of falsehood as truth, and I can see through the text how to treat falsehood as truth. Writing down one word at a time is a slash at a knife.

I can clearly see that I have no brains, and I take unreal things as real. It's just a hypothesis, it's just a guess, but I take it as true without reservation. As a result, there is also some so-called incomprehension and confusion.

I only doubt the truth of the event, but I have no doubt about the distortion in my head, this is me.

I didn't gain anything, I didn't add anything, and I didn't reason about the most reasonable guesses through words and logic. All the efforts are just to cut off one's own view of things, like a vine born from falsehood, and stubbornly grasp the distortion in the brain.

Kill the idea of "I think these things are real", or rather, kill the product of this emotional flow.

As for the result, it's speculation. That's right, even if the result is touching the truth, even if the result is approved by all the sages, even if the result is what the teacher has experienced. But for me, the result of the kill is a guess.

I would ask myself, why is it not done? But the real question is, why is it done? I will also ask, when can I touch the truth? Again, the real question is, why can I touch the truth?

Yuan Changwen felt that he was gradually starting to become stupid, as if the word smart had been far away, what quickly found the law, what was easy to get started, these seemed to be moving away from him. How convenient and easy is it to go down the river, where does it need to go through the effort in the head?

And I don't have anything I have to want, unlike my former self, as if I have to get something, so I will exercise a flexible and useful mind. Thinking about my former self, I still feel very powerful, obviously there has been an obstacle, but I am using my brain to achieve some kind of achievement.

Very inspirational, very enthusiastic, and very smart.

Yuan Changwen was a little puzzled, when did he start to become stupid? It seems that he never dared to believe that the teacher couldn't even press the elevator. But I've now found that it could really happen.

Because the flow will cause everything to appear in front of you naturally, and if you get used to the flow, you will no longer think about using your brain. Everything is so easy and effortless, there is no need to study hard to learn anything.

I don't have anything to want, and naturally I won't force anything. Maybe you can get it with a little bit of effort, but why work hard to get it? Only a character who is pulled by the twist in his head will think that this problem is incredible.

Yuan Changwen knew that his words and deeds should be attributed to being unmotivated, or a loser who often gave up. However, the ease in my heart did not fade at all, and I did not have any regrets or uncomfortable emotions because of giving up.

Being at home by yourself, really like an outsider. Watching the busyness of his parents, he didn't feel any warmth at all. Not even, there was not even a hint of emotion in return. Perhaps, he is a jerk.

There is nothing worth remembering in this world, including myself, it is just a picture element. How it all came out, I don't know. Whether there is an end, I also don't know. Even if that awareness were to perceive many characters at the same time, I wouldn't know it.

I sensed that the character of Yuan Changwen was thinking about this, which in itself was just a picture element. I'm just the character of Yuan Changwen, and I'm not that awareness at all, so how can I know what that awareness is.

The "I" here refers to this thinking. Of course, in essence, I am that awareness, because that awareness is everything, and nothing else.