Maya

Maya is illusion. The projector of reality.

The force that hides the truth the way clouds hide the sun, and puts a picture in its place — a world of separate things, taken as finally real.

That’s maya: we confirm to ourselves what we believe, telepathically pulling everything toward those descriptions.

Like forgetting the movie screen and panicking at the fire on it. Vedanta leaves the film running — it remembers the screen.

I think the cornerstone of mushroom therapy is realizing that the whole world is the way I perceive it.