What is reality?

 Is it the time of our life or an undernourished apocalyptic event devoid of the consciousness we feel defines our existence?

Is it the juxtaposition of the soul and physical self, existing on a plane far removed and yet exerting its influence in an overtly subtle way?

I have a mind that can soar to great heights and consider many things away from my physical self, unencumbered by mortal restrictions and physical laws. A mind that can create and discard in equal measure in a spiritual plane of its own making, yet tethered to an undisclosed reality inhabited by my human form.

An undisclosed reality.

We are not to know the reality that surrounds us or the forces that sweep us along our rocky road until the tether is severed and our minds transpose to another, lighter reality. A reality no more or less real than the drudge of a life well spent. But what of our memories and learned things? Are they detritus, remnants of the tether and previous reality that fill our Mindspace with longing for past times, just as our soul distances itself from such binds? Will memories from other realities intrude upon our minds’ newfound freedom filling it with a joyous connection to realities long forgotten as we tumble to yet another?

My reality is now. At this moment. In the next letter I t. y. p. e, but it’s too fleeting to grasp. I can barely acknowledge my existence before the moment becomes another, and my thoughts slip away to nestle in a past reality, a graveyard of ‘now’ emotions, inconsequential except for the scars they can leave behind.

Can it be an illusion? Do we exist as no more than an extension of our creative mind? I think not, So I must ask again.

 What is reality?