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Monday, June 29, 2020

Jiddu Krishnamurti - The consciousness of mankind




"Your consciousness is the consciousness of mankind. If that is the truth to you, not an idea, then what takes place? One has lived as an individual, fighting, struggling to express oneself, demanding – you follow? – as a limited, contained, narrow individual. And it is very, very difficult to see the truth that you are the rest of mankind, that in you is the whole of man and therefore his fears, his anxieties, his mischief, his arrogance, his pride, his violence, all that, and his sorrow. And mankind has lived with this sorrow. We have accepted sorrow as part of life, and if we don't accept it we run away from it through every form of entertainment, religious and otherwise. Or we personify this sorrow into an image, which the Christians have done, and think they have solved this problem.

You are the sorrow of mankind. Do you understand? What an enormous perception that is, if you see it. That your sorrow is not yours. Then you don't cry. Then you don't shed tears about your little wounds, your little failures, your little anxieties, and so on. But when you realise you are the representative of all mankind it brings about an enormous sense of vitality, energy. It is only when you are thinking about yourself, your sorrow, that vast energy is limited into a small little channel, and it becomes rather dirty.

Now, is it possible for sorrow to end? If there is an ending in one human being – please go with me for a little while – if there is the ending of sorrow in one human being, who is the representative of all humanity, that ending affects the consciousness of mankind. Do you understand?

Stalin has affected the whole consciousness of man; Hitler, and all the rest of those world people – national people. Through the priest, the idea of Jesus Christ has affected mankind. Right? You will accept that more easily. So when there is a fundamental ending of sorrow in a human being who is the representative of all humanity, then that brings about an action in the totality of mankind – I wonder if I am making this clear? Capito? Do you see the truth of this, the fact of this?"

Public Talk 6 – Saanen, Switzerland, 1978


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Thanks to Roxane

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Rumi ♡ Lovers have some secrets







A spirit that lives in this world
and does not wear the shirt of love,
such an existence is a deep disgrace.

Be foolishly in love,
because love is all there is.

There is no way into presence
except through a love exchange.

If someone asks, But what is love?
answer, Dissolving the will.

True freedom comes to those
who have escaped the questions
of freewill and fate.

Love is an emperor.
The two worlds play across him.
He barely notices their tumbling game.

Love and lover live in eternity.
Other desires are substitutes
for that way of being.

How long do you lay embracing a corpse?
Love rather the soul, which cannot be held.

Anything born in spring dies in the fall,
but love is not seasonal.

With wine pressed from grapes,
expect a hangover.

But this love path has no expectations.
You are uneasy riding the body?
Dismount. Travel lighter.
Wings will be given.

Be clear like a mirror
reflecting nothing.

Be clean of pictures and the worry
that comes with images.

Gaze into what is not ashamed
or afraid of any truth.

Contain all human faces in your own
without any judgment of them.

Be pure emptiness.
What is inside that? you ask.
Silence is all I can say.

Lovers have some secrets
that they keep.




Gustavo Adolfo Becquer - Rima V Espiritu sin Nombre




 Nameless spirit,
indefinable essence,
I live with the formless
life of the idea.
I swim in the void,
I tremble in the sun´s bonfire
I palpitate among the shadows
and float with the mists.
I am the gold fringes
of the distant star;
I am the lukewarm and seren light
of the high moon.
I am the burning cloud
that in the west undulates,
I am the shinning wake
of the wandering star.
I am snow on the peaks,
fire on the sands,
blue wave on the seas,
and foam on the shores.
I am the note in the lute,
perfume in the violet,
fleeting flame in the tombs,
and ivy in the ruins.
I thunder in the torrent,
and whistle in the flash,
and blind in the lightning,
and roar in the storm.
I laugh in the hills,
whisper in the tall grass,
sigh in the pure wave,
and weep in the dead leaf.
I undulate with the atoms
of the smoke that flows
and slowly ascends to the sky
as immense spiral.
I, on the golden threads
the insects hang,
mingle among the trees
in the fiery nap.
I run after the nymphs
who in the cool stream
of the crystalline brook
frolic naked.
I, in forests of corals
carpeted by white pearl,
pursue in the ocean
the light naiads.
I, in the hollow caverns
where the sun never penetrates,
mingle with the gnomes,
and observe their riches.
I look for the already
dissolved traces of the centuries,
and know of those empires
of which not even the name is left.
I follow in rapid giddiness
the worlds that revolve,
and my pupil embraces
the whole of creation.
I know of those regions
where no noise reaches,
and where formless stars
wait for the breah of life.
I am the bridge that crosses
over the abyss,
I am the unknown ladder
that joins Heaven & Earth.
I am the invisible ring that
ties the world of the form
to the world of the idea.
In short, I am the Spirit,
unknown essence,
mysterious perfume,
of which the poet is vessel......



 

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Hafiz - There are so many positions of Love!

artist unknown


 There are so many positions of Love!
Curved branches of sacred trees
Dancing through canopies of light...
Spring's orchestration of breezes
Floating through soft lilac nights,
Currents of stars sparking Passion
In Earth's celestial orbit,
The revolution of Existence's skirt
Whose folds contain unknown worlds...
Ten thousand different ways!
Eternal eyes gaze lovingly upon us
In which every sigh
Falls softly against The Beloved's
Inconceivable Omnipresent Breast



 

Monday, June 22, 2020

Bernadette Roberts - In the absence of self/The Silent Mind




The following is an excerpt from a biography self-written by Bernadette Roberts for the book Mystics, Masters, Saints and Sages by Robert Ullman and Judyth Reichenberg-Ullman.

The moment was unheralded, unrecognized, and unknown; it was the moment “I” entered a great silence and never returned. Beyond the threshold of the known, the door upon self was closed, but the door upon the Unknown was opened in a fixed gaze that could not look away. Impossible to see the self, to remember the self, or to be self-consciousness, the mind was restricted to the present moment. The more it tried to reflect back on itself, the more overpowering the silence.

By steadily gazing outward upon the Unknown, the silence abated and the emptiness of self became a joy. But the search for the still-point–God within–revealed not one emptiness, but two, for when there is no self, there is no Other; without a personal self there is no personal God–without a subject, there is no The still-point had vanished, and with its disappearance it took very sense of life the self possessed–a self which could no longer be felt to exist. What remained was not known. There was no life, no will, no energy, no feelings, no experiences, no within, no spiritual or psychic life. Yet, life was somewhere because all was as usual.

Though it could not be localized or found within any object of sight or mind, somewhere out-of-doors, life was flowing peacefully, assuredly. On a bluff above the sea, it revealed itself: life is not in anything; rather, all things are in life. The many are immersed in the One, even that which remains when there is no self, this too, is absorbed in the One. No longer a distance between self and the other, all is now known in the immediacy of this identity. Particulars dissolve into the One; individual objects give way to reveal that which is the same throughout all variety and multiplicity. To see this new dimension of life is the gift of amazing glasses through which God may be seen everywhere. Truly, God is all that exists–all, of course, but the self.



At one time, the Oneness grew to an overpowering intensity, as if drawing itself together from all parts, drawing inward and obliterating all that existed, including the eye that saw it and that which remained. At the threshold of extinction, the eye flickered and grew dim; instantly, that which remained, turned away. To bear the vision, to enter in, the light of the eye must not go out. Somehow it must become stronger, but what kind of strength is this and how could it be acquired? There was something still to be done, but what? No-self is helpless; it has no strength; it is not the light of the eye nor the eye itself.

Nine months passed before the eye upon Oneness became the eye upon nothingness. Without warning or reason, all particulars dissolved into emptiness. At one point, the mind came upon the hideous void of life, the insidious nothingness of death and decay strangling life from every object or sight. Only self can escape such a vision because only self knows fear, and only fear can generate the weapons of defense. Without a self, the only escape is no escape; the void must be faced–come what may. On the hillside, the epitome of all that is dreadful and insane was confronted–but who, or what beheld this terror? And who or what could endure it? In the absence of self, all that remained was an immovable stillness, an unbreakable, unfeeling silence. Would it move–crack open? Or would it hold? This could not be known, surmised, or even hoped for. What would be, would be.

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~ From The Experience of No-Self: A Contemplative Journey. © 1993 Bernadette Roberts.

 I wish I understood the mechanism of self-consciousness, or how it is possible for the mind to bend back on itself, for if I did, I could more easily convey a better understanding of no-self and its most noticeable effect—the silent mind. But whatever this mechanism is, the state of no-self is the breaking up of a self-conscious system whereby the mind can no longer see itself as an object; and at the same time it loses the ability to find any other object to take its place, because when there is no self there is also no other.

I might add that the mind has never had the ability to see itself as a subject—this would be as impossible as the eye seeing itself; yet I think this very impossibility may be the clue to the type of consciousness that remains when consciousness without a knowable subject or object becomes the whole of it. This type of consciousness is not available to our ordinary way of knowing, and because it cannot be experienced or understood by the relative mind, it falls squarely into the realm of the unknown and the unknowable.

I used to believe that in order to know of the self's existence, it was not necessary for the mind to reflect back on itself—to make itself an object or to be self-conscious, that is; instead, I believed that the basic awareness of thoughts and feelings went right on, and was present whether I reflected on them or not. Now, however, I see this is not the way it works. I see this is an error, but an error it is only possible to realize once self-consciousness had come to an end. It seems that on an unconscious level this reflexive mechanism goes on so continuously, it makes no difference if we are aware of this mechanism on a conscious level or not. In turn, this means that when the mechanism is cut off, we not only lose awareness of the self—or the agent of consciousness on a conscious level—but we lose awareness of the self on an unconscious level as well. Stated more simply: when we can no longer verify or check back (reflect) on the subject of awareness, we lose consciousness of there being any subject of awareness at all. To one who remains self-conscious, of course, this seems impossible. To such a one, the subject of consciousness is so self-evident and logical, it needs no proof. But to the unself-conscious mind, no proof is possible.

The first question to be asked is whether or not self-consciousness is necessary for thinking, or if thinking goes right on without a thinker. My answer is that thinking can only arise in a self-conscious mind, which is obviously why the infant mentality cannot survive in an adult world. But once the mind is patterned and conditioned or brought to its full potential as a functioning mechanism, thinking goes right on without any need for a self-conscious mechanism. At the same time, however, it will be a different kind of thinking. Where before, thought had been a product of a reflecting introspective, objectifying mechanism—ever colored with personal feelings and biases—now thought arises spontaneously off the top of the head, and what is more, it arises in the now-moment which is concerned with the immediate present, making it invariably practical. This is undoubtedly a restrictive state of mind, but it is a blessed restrictiveness since the continual movement inward and outward, backward and forward in time, and in the service of feelings, personal projections, and all the rest, is an exhausting state that consumes an untold amount of energy that is otherwise left free.

What this means is that thinking goes right on even when there is no self, no thinker, and no self-consciousness; thus, there is no such thing as a totally silent mind—unless, of course, the mind or brain (which I view as synonymous) is physically dead. Certainly something remains when the mind dies, but this "something" has nothing to do with our notions or experiences of a mind, or of thought, or of ordinary awareness.

What I call a "silent mind," therefore, is a purely relative experience belonging to a self-conscious state wherein silence is relative to its absence, its opposite, or to some degree of mental quietude. But in a fully established non-relative state—which is non-experiential by ordinary standards—there are no longer the variations, degrees, or fluctuations that could be known as the silent mind. This does not mean we cannot pass beyond the mind to "that" which remains when the self-consciousness falls away, but it does mean that whatever lies beyond the mind has no such tool for its description.



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The Cloud of Unknowing (2nd post)



Written around the year 1375,  The Cloud of Unknowing was written as a letter of advice to a young novice just setting out on the path of contemplation.  The author, believed to have been a country parson, writes in a personal, direct style, hoping to share his knowledge of contemplation with the young would-be monk.

  The theme of the Cloud of Unknowing is of turning one’s attention within, away from the mind and its objects. The attention is turned inward upon itself, and since it is now focused on nothing the mind can understand, sees only a ‘cloud of unknowing’, a seeming nothingness. For most seekers, this can be frustrating, if not impossible, for it gives no immediate reward, or even an object or image for their mind to grasp. To simply aim one’s attention at its own source is to look back up the ray of one’s awareness, where the mind and ego cannot go. This also takes the attention off of the body and its desires and fears, along with the senses and outer environment.


 For when you first begin to undertake it, all that you find is a darkness, a sort of cloud of unknowing; you cannot tell what it is, except that you experience in your will a simple reaching out to God [a naked intent unto God]. This darkness and cloud is always between you and your God, no matter what you do, and it prevents you from seeing him clearly by the light of understanding in your reason, and from experiencing him in sweetness of love in your affection.

 – You are to smite upon that thick cloud of unknowing with a sharp dart of longing love. -… no man can think of God himself. Therefore, it is my wish to leave everything that I can think of and choose for my love the thing that I cannot think. Because he can certainly be loved, but not thought. He can be taken and held by love but not by thought. – Cloud of Unknowing




The gift of The Cloud is its simple message of going beyond the mind. We cannot find our Source, or “God”, by thinking, or through worded thought, but only through what it calls love or longing. This may be called a vector, a direction we follow through our intuition, even after we have gone beyond our mind. It leads us into an uncharted realm, a cloud of unknowing in the back of beyond, where we lose our ‘self’. If we continue into this Great Unknown, guided by this longing, perhaps we will meet our Self,  and find we have been there all along.


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For whoever hears or reads about all this, and thinks that it is fundamentally an activity of the mind, and proceeds then to work it all out along these lines, is on quite the wrong track. He manufactures an experience that is neither spiritual or physical. He is dangerously misled and in real peril. – Cloud of Unknowing



PDF 


 

Monday, June 15, 2020

Jeff Foster - The end of spirituality




My yoga mat has disappeared into the ground under my feet.

My ashram has become the coffee counter, a bad joke exchanged with the barista, a friendly smile creeping over a frozen face, and the whole world willing us along.

My temple is the shopping mall, the dentist’s waiting room, the empty meadow in the morning with its soft yellow light and virginal air.

My guru is the incubating roar in the belly, the melancholy of the evening and the hope and despair of raw existence itself.

Nothing needs to be added.

My enlightenment is the ordinary moment, this mundane experience drenched in the sweet nectar of my own attention.

My origin is the breath and the breath is my destination.

My lineage is the hungry cat greeting me on my evening walk, ambling beside me awhile, rubbing her fur against my shin, her fur soft like the cashmere blanket grandma used to wrap around us as the nights came in early, fur becoming skin, and the cat nonchalantly moving on to peruse a discarded sandwich wrapper, and me walking on.

My spirituality is deep in the earth; it is in the mud, the heat, the bowels, the awkward and the inconvenient, the cry for mother and the courage to penetrate unexplored regions of the psyche. It is the yearning for home and the happily exhausted return.

My bliss is nothing the mind could ever grasp, not in a billion years of searching.

My joy is simple, like those who have lived a full life and are ready to die.

I lie down in the meadow, my backpack my pillow, my hands entering into the silky, sticky grass, my entire life reduced to a single thought and memory and momentary vision, and then that is gone too, and I am gone with it all, replaced by the meadow itself, its soft yellow light and its clean invigorating air, its hope and its promise, its fullness and its mercy.

Do not look for me. You will not find me here, or recognise me if you do. I am invisible because I have become all that is seen and all that is known and unknown still.

I do not practise spirituality. I have been destroyed, deconstructed, de-boned and born again, reconstituted as man, formless as form. I have been recreated inseparable from this ordinariness, resurrected with the birds belly laughing on the electric wires at dawn.



 
 

Rumi - The story of Love can never be told.




When I calmed my mind
And entered my heart,
The Love of the Lord
Leapt like a flame within me.
All my old ideas and beliefs
Just blew away like chaff in the wind.
It wasn’t because of anything I am;
It wasn’t because of anything I did;
But only because of Him and His wild, miraculous, grace
That I learned at long last the lesson of Love.
My coming and going have ended;
My mind has melted in the Mind.
Don’t ask me to speak any more –
The story of Love can never be told.



Sufi stories PDF