Wednesday, 30 September 2009
How can there be anything but this? I know there are thoughts and feelings, children and bill collectors, bosses and boyfriends that make the story in time seem absolutely real. But even the poor, beleaguered, overworked mind can just about grasp no time. All there ever is, is this ever present moment; and in that - this -what is present reality for every individual - there lies the key to the mystery. There lies the secret of man's immortality; the only thing that really exists is now, here. There is no beginning or end to this. Time is a mechanism by which oneness can enjoy and merely be aware of itself; a means by which our senses and are bodies have some voice, a tool so that nothingness can be something, for the mere pleasure of pure existence. If the mind is seemingly not engaged, as is what happens in meditation, perhaps timelessness can be more obvious. But such quieting of the mind is not necessary, although pleasant. Whatever it is that seems to unfold, is the perfect unfolding, the best possible story. When the person it all seems to happen to is no longer the be-all and end-all, the story may indeed seem more efficient, or blissful, or go more smoothly; but there are no guarantees. The story may still be painful, but the pain may be seen as life in the front line, or simply balance; yet again, there is no certainty. There is no better way than the way that is. Everything you have ever been looking for is staring you in the face; and what you have been looking for is what looks.
Monday, 28 September 2009
Here's a clip of Pamela Wilson, who speaks lowly and slowly and is obviously totally spiritual, talking about "coming home". The story she tells of seeing Yo Yo Ma doing a duet with a bird is a great one. I suppose what's she's talking about could possibly be called "The Zone". We've hopefully all been in The Zone at least once, and it rocks; it is life, fitting like a custom-made glove. The Zone can be described as being naturally hyper-aware, effortlessly interacting with great efficiency and creativity with whatever is happening - just going with it - with no resistance or apparent separation, and very little thought. It's an admirable state, and one probably worth cultivating, if cultivating it is indeed possible.
Well, I take no issue with Pamela Wilson no matter how veggie and into meditation she may be. However, it's all The Zone. It's tempting to berate ourselves every time we seem to plod along in our story, full of resistance and resentment, separate above all, wishing things were different than they are. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what twists and turns the story takes, or how completely absorbing the world of the separate, disconsolate, discontented mind may seem. It's all The Zone; whatever it is, is oneness in the fascinating and multifaceted guise of separation. Oneness doesn't care if there is apparent separation. Oneness is, whether it is appreciated (by itself) or not. So don't despair of never reaching some higher plane, some "better" state of being; or do despair, if despair is what is there. In the story, whatever seems to be will surely change. Whatever this is, it is wholeness, perfection, The Zone; and you are whole, complete and perfect just as you are, for you are The Zone. You can't be anything else. You are.
Monday, 14 September 2009
Life, the appearance, or whatever we're calling it today, is often full of surprises. It has the most marvelous, unpredictable twists and turns. The "fruits of wisdom" often become available in life-stories of struggle, suffering and redemption. Life, just as it is presented, in its ultimate unpredictability, will often carry with it intrinsically the practices that bear the fruits of wisdom; self-questioning, clearing house, and accepting what is without needing to change it or run away from it, to name a few. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,/Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." This phrase conveys the multifariousness, the infinite possibility of what is. Even a grounded common sense informs us that we often don't know what is "good" for us, or how any particular circumstance will turn out; anything might happen. And does. Including enlightenment, or whatever we're calling it today, "happening" for a devoted traditional practitioner, or WHAMMO! It hits out of the blue to someone who was never even a spiritual seeker.
The stories unfold on the crux of a twinkling of energy; all those thoughts and feelings that string the thing together - just firing neurons, neurons composed of atomic nothingness. I know there are children and bill collectors, bosses and boyfriends, crushing guilt and enormous responsibility, or great joy and fulfillment that make the story in time seem absolutely real. But even the poor, beleaguered, overworked mind can just about grasp "no time". All there ever is, is this ever present moment; and in that - this - what is present reality for every individual - there lies the key to the mystery. There lies the secret to man's immortality; the only thing that really exists is now, here. There is no beginning or end to this. Time is a mechanism by which oneness can enjoy, or merely be aware of itself; a means by which our senses and bodies have some voice and movement, a tool so that nothingness can be something, for the mere pleasure and pain of pure existence. If the mind is seemingly not engaged, as is what can happen in meditation, perhaps timelessness is more obvious. But such quieting of the mind is not necessary. There is nothing other than wholeness, completeness, oneness, here and now, "always". There is nothing to get "in the future". This is everything, right here, right now. Do nothing, and you are what you are, which is everything. Or do whatever seems like the next correct step, the next well-pondered decision. It doesn't matter. There are no mistakes. There is room for it all. There must be; it is.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Make the fine mind dull.
Do not ask questions more;
For questions blind the mind,
A willing whore,
To any formula of final rest.
The place, the answer, wrought of genius games;
A thrilling meadow of the sunlit quest,
Where senseless sanity will soothe and soar.
Pry the hard heart wide.
Reject not any thing.
For hatred kills, divides.
Move in the gentle grace of needless care.
The purposeful yet natural way of love;
A constant giving paean of love's fare,
Where all-inclusiveness will Zion bring.
Do nothing at all.
Surrender treasured goal;
For thoughts and actions, as they are,
And flow around the center of all lives.
This is the place, the goal wrought of itself.
All, as it is, is bounty, and it thrives,
With or without the mind and heart and soul.
S. Foxton 2009.
Sunday, 6 September 2009
No words or concepts can capture this, whatever it is we're attempting to describe. There is no true path to it. There is no perfect pointer. Labeling it "unconditional love, that accepts all and cannot reject itself" or "the only constant, awareness, the center around which life flows" is unimportant. There is no manual that describes the perfect way to be. Words describing immediate, direct experience, where there is no doer, only what is done, are still a description. Whether the ego is rejected, or seen through and embraced, doesn't matter. Whether frantic seekers "get this" or not matters not; if not getting it is what is, that is what is. Perhaps meditation is the key, and the drooping seeker finally rests in awareness, directly and flawlessly, just pure being. That may be the goal, but it is no better or worse than any other. Whether the conditioning of the mind/body is broken down and dissected and finally defeated, or whether that conditioning is seen as the character, choiceless and not needing any meddling with - neither of these is the goal; or perhaps, both of them are. Whatever it is, it is this. Whatever this is, it is. Life is its own purpose, and the appearance of life is simply what is seems to be, whatever that is. There's no way to get it wrong; there's no way to get it right. Whatever your responses or reactions seem to be, they are perfect. No matter how definitively absolute awareness is described, it is nothing more nor less than this; and even such simplicity is only a description. There is nobody that needs to "awaken". We are all "awake", whether it is seen as "there is no one", or whether it is seen as "there is only love"; whether it is insisted upon that awakening can never occur without others, or that awakening must occur in solitude; whether a lucid life, seen through as a dream, is taken hold of and lived to the fullest, or whether a complete surrender happens and the doer is taken for a wild ride, in free-fall. It is all just as it is.