Saturday, 14 August 2010

I Will Find Where Truth Is Hid, Though it Were Hid Indeed Within the Centre.

Anger arises...or hatred...or loving feelings. These emotions may seem connected to a story, to owning the story...but it's possible to feel something and just not poke it with a "why" stick. No one feels it; it's not so far removed; the anger simply is. This goes for every apparent emotion, feeling, intuition, thought, sensation. There it is. It is.

Sometimes the story unfolds, and the identity seems the most important thing. Who we are, our point of view, our role, our very being and existence as manifested by a body and a mind and thoughts and feelings and actions, seems the most important thing - perhaps the only thing. It can seem important to get to know one's own persona, the truth of it, the bare essential bones of it, uninterfered with by the comforting stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. It gets confusing. Surely those stories we tell ourselves about ourselves are an important part of our conditioning, part of the self-hypnosis that effects our essential reality? Surely it's impossible to disentangle all the stories, impressions, transference and projecting? Know yourself, some preach. Your persona is not important, preach others. Disenchanted with this conflicting advice, we try to develop our intuition, so as to know the right action to take, the right thing to do, the right way to feel, the right things to think, the right way to perceive reality - the TRUTH. We seek the unadorned truth of existence. We seek to strip away all filters of perception. We seek the fundamental answer to the fundamental question. The question: Why? Why me, why this, why anything? The answer: because it is.

The mind is a tricky, wondrous thing; perhaps it isn't the only thing, perhaps it isn't the be-all and end-all. Perhaps figuring things out isn't possible; in duality, the essential quality of manifested reality, co-existing mutually exclusive concepts are the norm. The mind can't fathom such chaos. But perhaps, if we stop trying, the truth is revealed. Maybe the truth is simply that it all exists, in an apparent motley jumble, full of hope and tragedy, comedy and despair, having and wanting, just as it does, in exactly the way it must. This could be labeled acceptance; but there doesn't even need to be something so far removed. What if there is no one that needs to accept? What if the identity, with its judgments and labeling, is simply an illusory, albeit it interesting, extra added bonus? Here we are, struggling or not, living life, coping, dying, praying, succeeding, trying to ease the burden of others, or retracted into a temporary perceived enclave of relative safety. We have been doing it right all along.

This clip is one from Lumet's The Verdict, my favourite performance by Paul Newman. As I stated above, here we are, living life, coping, dying...yet I find it hard to believe that Mr. Newman has died. He is my absolute favourite - and here's the conditioning behind it: he reminds me of my grandpa, who is 90 and looks after himself, bowls, fishes, keeps house, has all his marbles...despite having already died, at least conceptually, I find the hope arising that I've inherited his genes! The scene is the character Frank Gavin's summation, after a sticky trial taking a hospital to task for covering up a bad anaesthesia decision. Gavin was a washed-up alcoholic ambulance chaser before this case, and finds himself reborn in fighting for the comatose patient's family. A tour-de-force, and it almost makes me want to have such a concrete philosophy of life. We all seek truth. Enjoy.

Wednesday, 4 August 2010

If All the Year Were Playing Holidays, to Sport Would Be as Tedious as to Work.

There is nothing to take a holiday from, nowhere to go on vacation. There is nothing to run from, nowhere to hide, no one that needs to escape from anything. The fullness of now is always here; the wholeness of here is this endless moment, ever present. Whatever you're doing, that is what is meant to be done; the key is: you're not doing it.

If it seems that you need to disentangle your ego, strip back your conditioning, dismantle some of the more obvious lies that the ego tells itself about itself and everything it apprehends, well then, that is what it seems. By all means, pursue this. Why not? An urge is an urge, and it isn't your urge, however much it feels that it is.

If the lines of reality blur, and wakefulness seems dreamlike, and the illusory nature of what the senses deliver seems, at last, to be evident - question it. Question what it is you thought that this was supposed to be like. Ponder on expectations fulfilled. Whatever question is asked, whatever musings arise, isn't your question; they aren't your musings.

Decide what the parameters of Absolute Truth are, and be suspicious of them. Meditate in stillness, experience a "glimpse" of blissful nothingness, and suspect your definition of bliss. Whatever concepts are settled upon, whatever definitions resonate - they aren't your concepts; they do not resonate with you. The more solid, the more sure the reality, the more elusive it is. The fuller the revelation, the more cumbersome its demise.

So if the sureness of reality is strictly defined, be cautious of its promise. There is no promise, for promise entails time; and there is no time. This is all there is, all we have, and there is no we to have it. What is, is.

Recently I saw Toy Story 3D with my kids, and this is the last scene; it's quite powerful, especially if you've been with Woody and the gang from the beginning. There were several adults openly weeping in the small audience we were in, and I won't say the children and I were immune! What a treat, to have such a story, resonating with all our other stories of belonging and rejection, vigorous life and untimely death, the power of imagination, the quality of life itself and what comprises it. If you haven't seen it yet, I'd wait to view this clip. And grab a tissue.