Ideals arise from our interpretation of what our senses send us from the outer landscape. We taste a blackberry off the vine – how close is it to perfectly ripe? Ideals are self-consuming artifacts: eventually, we let go of them. Ideals are no longer necessary once their purpose is achieved. They disappear, the way effort disappears when we balance ourselves on a seesaw.
Ideals arrive again and again like waves, and we surf them. As they slip away under our inner landscapes, one by one, we are free. The waves, the ideals, the truths become illusions, reality becomes false. Finally, we are left with ecosystems, the most qualiadelic ideal of all.