Rupert Spira - Awareness is the Dreamer

 

http://www.rupertspira.com/

Jackson Peterson - A Sudden and Extreme Reduction of Complexity

art Tasos Karapapazoglou

  All that is ever known is contained in and as, this instant of conscious experience.

This moment of consciousness is restricted in being exactly between the past moment, just passed, and the future moment, yet to arrive. The current moment, the only moment ever known, has a very, very short duration (if any).
[past —>now<—future]

Any experience ever known occurs in consciousness or mind. There is no other place in which we can experience any experience. What kind of substance, other than mental stuff, can appear inside a moment of consciousness?

Nothing physical or lastingly solid, can appear in consciousness or else we wouldn’t have enough room for the next fresh moment of consciousness.

This means all moments of consciousness and conscious experience, are of the same “substance” as daydreams and night dreams; the stuff of mind and dreams.

Since we never experience a “real” outer material world in any moment of consciousness, its objective and “physical” existence can only be a conceptual belief. We can experience the feelings of solidity, of bright light, colors, sounds, fragrances, tastes and “physical” sensations in our dreams perfectly the same as when awake.

Through seeing that any moment of consciousness as perceptions, thoughts, emotional states, or “physical” sensations, only occur within the limited confines of the mind, it must be that all these experiences are no more “objectively real” than our dreams and day dreams.

Through this being seen clearly, ALL moments of consciousness are seen to be “empty” of even the slightest trace of being an objective and material reality. The inherently existing, material nature of ALL experiences has been reduced to mere conceptual beliefs. Where did samsara go?

Some points to consider:

How long does this exact moment of “now” last?

Can one experience any moment other than the one presenting itself as the current “now”?

If there is any duration for the moment of “now”, what is the substance of that which has duration?

Is there anyone organizing and deciding what the content of the next instant of consciousness will contain before it arrives? Is it spontaneous and “self-arising”, like a dream at night? Who is controlling this?

Could life be anything more than an extended series of singular moments of consciousness?

Is the sense of a personal self or being an “observer”, just the momentary, conceptualized content of consciousness (which also has no duration) that is appearing to no one?

Is anyone doing “flashes of momentary ‘now’ consciousness”? How would a “someone” do that if the “someone” is itself only a “moment of consciousness” flashing, without duration?

What is the true and essential nature of each momentary flashing of conscious experience?

Is it possible that instead of sub-atomic particles being the “building blocks” of reality, that “moments of consciousness” are the most fundamental structures as being the energetic formations of Consciousness itself?

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Marianne Williamson - The Heart Just Wants to Go Home

The problem with the world is that we’ve lost our sense of reverence — for life, for love, for the earth, for each other, for our families, for God’s universe. We’ve lost a sense of responsibility to anything other than to ourselves, acting too often as though there’s no higher good to strive for than the satisfaction of our own desires. A consumer-driven culture exalts the idea that we can have whatever it is we want, yet that very idea seems to push farther and farther away those things that are what we really want. For what we really want, whether we know it or not, is to love and be loved. Not just to get, but to connect. Not just to participate in our own individual dramas, but to be part of a larger cause, a larger mission, a larger life than just our own.

It’s hard to push against the prevailing winds of self-centeredness today because they usually pose as something other than what they are. But somehow we’ve got to realign ourselves, and realign our culture, with the simple things that make life worth living. Too much speed, too much technology are robbing us of our life force. We have got to head back home, or we will be lost in the forrest of this suddenly all too complicated world. There is more wisdom in the silence than in the chatter, and more hope in the heart than in externalities. The mind wants this or that, but the heart just wants to go home…

 https://marianne.com/

 

Hafiz - Roses in my breast

 When thus I sit with roses in my breast,
Wine in my hand, and the Beloved kind;
I ask no more—the world can take the rest.

Even the Sultan's self is, to my mind,
On such a planetary night as this,
Compared with me a veritable slave.
No need of candles where my loved one is !

Is not the moon of her bright cheek at full ?
Such eyes would fill with light the very grave.
No need of perfumes ! the Belovéd's hair
Wafts such a fragrance to the feasting sense
That all this vinous tavern smells of myrrh
And musk and ambergris and frankincense.

In this our order of the Magian creed
Wine lawful is, but, were thy face away -
O rose that hath a cypress for thy stem —

- - -

Nay, Sufi, go thy ways, let HAFIZ be!
Tonight the never-ending fast is done,
And the great feast comes in with minstrelsy:
Here shall we sit, until the rising sun
Glitters on rose and jasmine – I and She.

New Nightingale, New Rose
by Hafiz of Shiraz
translated by Andrew Phillip Smith 

 

Nancy Neithercut - Tears

Weeping waves of joy of sorrow of awe
......they merged....
Ahhhhh
Tears and their wetness
Gem of our aliveness
Washed in mirrored beauty....
The tears never stop
They are the worlds sorrow and joy flowing through me painting my water color dream dance in the flowing that has no edges or beginning or end yet seems to move and dance and swing
It has no movement without these imaginary skies weeping

never and forever collided in timeless wonder and wept at the beauty of the death of time
As tears dry on my cheeks I remember
Oh yes
My fingertips have swirled through this wetness
My tongue has tasted this saltiness of endless oceans
Of shore less seas
Where I was washed onto the beach under the naked gaze of moons and suns and your beautiful beautiful eyes

Here we dance
As this beautiful sorrow
As this sublime joy
As this splendid aloneness
That we are
That we share

 Nancy's blog

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