Words pointing…
A myriad bubbles were floating on the surface of a stream.
“What are you?” I cried to them as they drifted by.
“I am a bubble, of course,” nearly a myriad bubbles answered, and there was surprise and indignation in their voices as they passed.
But, here and there, a lonely bubble answered, “We are this stream,” and there was neither surprise nor indignation in their voices, but just a quiet certitude.
Does not one of our elementary errors lie in imagining that we “do” things, for it seems to be equally probable that things “do” us? We believe that we perform an endless series of actions, but the truth may be that an endless series of actions performs us. We think that we manipulate events, but are we not rather manipulated by events? We think we go to meet that which we experience, but that which we experience may come to meet us. It is perhaps an illusion that we “live”: we are “lived”.
We ourselves are not an illusory part of Reality; rather we are Reality itself illusorily conceived.
Humility, metaphysically, implies the absence of any entity to be either “proud” or “humble”.