Imagine watching a movie where a sudden twist happens—a car crash, an explosion, a shocking revelation. In that moment, you’re caught up in it. Your body reacts, maybe your heart races, your breath catches, and for that brief period, it feels like the most real thing in the world. You don’t stop and think, “Oh, this is just a movie,” because you’re fully immersed. But then, the scene changes, and as you keep watching, you naturally shift back into the awareness that it was always just a film playing out exactly as it was meant to, frame by frame. Nothing was actually out of control—it just seemed that way in the moment.
That’s what happened. The accident itself felt abrupt, unexpected, and for a moment, I was just there, experiencing it as it unfolded. There was no time to intellectualize or analyze—it just happened. But afterward, there was this deep, undeniable clarity that everything was exactly as it was meant to be. Not planned in a way that suggests someone sat down and mapped it out, but planned in the sense that everything unfolds spontaneously and perfectly, always. Even the initial shock, the seeming confusion, was part of that.
It’s like how waves crash in an ocean—each wave rises, crests, and falls back naturally, without any mistakes or missteps. It just does. And even if, for a moment, a wave might “forget” that it’s the ocean, that doesn’t change the fact that it never actually wasn’t the ocean. That’s what’s paradoxical about it: in the moment, you can feel like you’ve “forgotten” the underlying nature of everything, but once the moment passes, you see that you never actually forgot—because forgetting itself was just another part of the flow.
That’s why it’s impossible to ever really “fall out” of understanding. There’s only ever this, unfolding exactly as it does, and whether you seem to remember or forget makes no real difference.