Friday, February 8, 2019

John McIntosh - Suffering and Self realization

The seduction of the grand dream is so intense that for most ‘shock’ is required to break the imprisoned God-SELF free enough to recognize that the life they have been living may NOT be real. This is why ‘suffering’ is such a bitter-sweet blessing that eventually humbles the arrogant shield that hides the deep fear the false self always carries. ‘Living’ with simple pain-oriented-suffering has been woven into the fabric of illusions subtly as ‘normal’ and as a result, this further prolongs the long night of dreaming.

All manner of justifications have cloaked the chaos and conflict of the dysfunctional dream world ‘with’ credibility. Cause and effect, karma, righteousness, justice and retribution are among the reasons the sleeping collective consciousness assigns to the imbalanced life of pain-suffering the false self endures. In order to ‘shake’ this delusion from its roots, ‘full-blown and ‘concentrated’ suffering must be experienced. When finally, the false self’s hold over the constricted God-SELF is broken … even temporarily, sufficient Awareness arises that suffering may NOT be necessary, and Attention slowly turns toward ‘surrender’ to ‘What Is’ … which leads inevitably to Self Realization.

As this shift in Awareness happens, pain will remain as long as Consciousness occupies a body, but suffering departs along with the illusion of victim-hood based on the belief in separation.



Wednesday, February 6, 2019

St. John of the Cross - The Fountain

How well I know that flowing spring
in black of night.

The eternal fountain is unseen.
How well I know where she has been
in black of night.

I do not know her origin.
None. Yet in her all things begin
in black of night.

I know that nothing is so fair
and earth and firmament drink there
in black of night.

I know that none can wade inside
to find her bright bottomless tide
in black of night.

Her shining never has a blur;
I know that all light comes from her
in black of night.

I know here streams converge and swell
and nourish people, skies and hell
in black of night.

The stream whose birth is in this source
I know has gigantic force
in black of night.

The stream from but these two proceeds
yet neither one, I know, precedes
in black of night.

The eternal fountain is unseen
in living bread that gives us being
in black of night.

She calls on all mankind to start
to drink her water, though in dark,
for black is night.

O living fountain that I crave,
in bread of life I see her flame
in black of night.


Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Vince Flammini - Allow


If there was only one word to use as a pointer, this would be a pretty good one...Allow.

Allow whatever is happening right now. Right now! Really. Don't make this an intellectual exercise or, if you are, allow that.

See whatever it is that is registering in sight and allow.
Hear whatever sounds are present right now and allow.
Smell whatever odors are present right now and allow.
Taste whatever flavors are present right now and allow.
Feel whatever sensations are present right now and allow.
Notice whatever thoughts are present right now and allow.
Allow it all.

We fight so much with our own experience. If you notice "fighting with experience" happening, allow that, too.

We work so hard in the search, imagining that there is some other way other than the way it is in this present moment. If that is true for you right now, allow it.

If the film of "I give up; I'll never get it" is playing, allow that.

If there is a lot of thinking/intellectualizing about this article, this search, dropping the "I" - all that malarkey - allow that, too.

If there is agreement or disagreement, passion or neutrality, peace or war, anger or calm, happiness or sadness - allow it all. If there is great desire or no desire at all, allow.

If there is a sense of allowing, a sense of "me" who is allowing and disappointment that there is a sense of "me" still present, allow that, too.

What you are is within and beyond all of that. YOU ARE ALL OF THAT. What you ALREADY ARE is this unobstructed knowing in which all of this ("this" meaning whatever is arising in experience as these words are read RIGHT NOW) happens.

Allow is another word for REST. I know that it seems there is a choice about resting or not, allowing or not. Remember, "resting" and "allowing" are just pointers to what you already are - but there really isn't a choice about it because YOU are already THAT - always have been and always will be. There is nothing you need to "work on" or "try for" or "get under control" or "understand" or "figure out" or "experience" or "rest into" in order to simply BE what YOU ALREADY ARE! And, if that seems too easy and nonsensical, I really need to say it again?

If none of this makes any sense - good.

Allow that, too. 


Sunday, February 3, 2019

Arthur Osborne - There isn’t one!

I was walking along the road when I met
A fool talking fool talk.
“There isn’t one, there isn’t one! How happy
I am that there isn’t one!”
He said, as if it were a song he was singing.
“Isn’t one what?” I asked.
“Isn’t one me,” he said foolishly.
And he walked on looking quite happy.

Arthur Osborne 

Miriam Louisa Simons - Unfindable

Art – Edgar Degas, Woman Seen from Behind, Drying her Hair c. 1905 – 1910

 how a few moments of empty-mind spiked with questions of the unanswerable kind
can deliver you to your effulgent nothingness

I take off my clothes,

lift them to my face,

inhale the fragrance of my skin.

By what alchemy was that unique odour created?


I soak in the bath,

submerged to my chin.

Wetness, warmth: what registers these sensations

yet never gets wet?


I towel-dry my mop of silver hair.

I marvel that it grows, it falls out;

more grows, automatically.

Can I spin one thread of hair?


I trim a toenail.

How does this perfect toe-guard

know how to grow?

Is there a how-to manual for nails (and hair and cells)?


My scissors slip.

I watch my bright blood slowly seep,

congeal, clot (or not).

Can I control a clot?


I listen to the ambient sounds of my environment.

By what miracle can I hear

the kettle boiling urgently,

and those rowdy Kookaburras?


I make coffee and slowly savour the flavour,

asking myself,

(eyes shut)

Where exactly is ‘taste’ located?


Then, uninvited, the mother of all questions shows up:

Where’s my world viewed from?

I gaze undistractedly

at my coffee cup.


I can’t find a point of perspective.

So then I try to find a viewer.

Can I find a fixed point,

a “me”?


Almost 75 years of wondering, checking for myself,

what can I report?

Well, as the saying goes:  All the lights are on but

no one’s home.


I imagined myself into existence,

only to find I am unfindable.

What I find is inescapable space.

Space that’s unimagined, and unarguably aware.


Space – ceaselessly birthing

all experience in, and as, time,

including this tricky two-step called



Aware space, dancing

as every sensation, feeling, thought,

every belief – questioned or not,

every thing and every no-thing too.


And I, hobbled and hollow-boned,

know its fancy footwork as my own.



Don’t you just love the way a few moments

of empty-mind

spiked with questions of the unanswerable kind

can deliver you to your effulgent nothingness?

– with a deep bow, ml

(deep bow from mb to ml)