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like anything and everything, your whole essence is imbued in this task.
By "task" I can only assume you mean to keep on with yourself and balance the line between doing what you want to do without interference from subjective influences and living up the the worn out antiquated values that people generally rise the coat tails of and are subconsciously led into a guilt ridden psycho-drama because you feel that things must be set in stone.
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your mind is swimming in a sea of nothing, blown around by forces you can't control. And control is gone
Your mind is a see of "nothing"; nothing surrounded by the potential of anything and that potential is drawn from all outside forces. It is not a matter of "control". Control is a wholly humanistic notion of possessions and power. It is the oldest human instinct to try to assume control over something and make claim to something because hoarding things is always a good thing when you feel that nature is a big game of king of the hill. But there is no notion of control or possessions. It is a constant cycle of give and take. Once something is filling the blank canvas of your mind you are in a working interaction with it... but there is no more control of it over you or you over it anymore than the paint controls the canvas or the canvas controls the paint.
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And the illusion is gone. But you can't just surrender.
I think by surrendering you mean just have your life and consciousness slip out of the shackles of gravity and time and so on? See your self as one of the few rats in the cage that actually realized that he was in a cage?
We all live in our heads whether not not we are able or choose to acknowledge it. The human race has survived this long because no matter what funk and filth your toothless war ridden hopeless refugee rats find themselves born in.. for some reason they keep hold of some personal notion of hope in something..
The illusion. Who created the illusion? Who are you surrendering to? Yourself. You are the amalgam of your environs. You are the blank canvas.
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little clockwork boy
That is poetry. I prefer automated meat sack.