Man Shaped Block

What is it really like (I ask myself) where I am, now? Am I shut up in what Marcus Aurelius called this bag of blood and corruption (and what we might call this walking zoo, or cell-city, or chemical factory, or cloud of particles), or am I shut out of it? Do I spend my life embedded inside a solid, man-shaped block (roughly six feet by two by one), or outside that block, or perhaps both inside and outside it? The fact is: things aren’t like that at all. There are no obstructions here, no inside or outside, no room or lack of room, no hiding place or shelter: I can find no home here to live in or to be locked out of, and not an inch of ground to build it on. But this homelessness suits me perfectly - a void needs no housing. In short, this physical order of things, so solid-looking in appearance and at a distance, is always soluble without residue on really close inspection. And I find this is true, not only of my human body, but of my total Body, the universe itself.