is the body of beingness
yours, mine, and all the appearances taking the verb
it never moves yet it contains all that changes
have you found that which never changes?
that which never moves?
that which never knows, labels or holds a belief about anything?
find that – it’s closer than your next thought
and Totality will at last embrace ITself
The weird thing about rapture is that it can’t be called an experience; it’s the absence of an experiencer. It can’t be recalled, although in retrospect there’s a sense that Awareness has been simply awareing Itself. It has to be the ultimate relaxation. Perhaps it’s the natural state of Being-ness.
Joseph Campbell spoke about finding the still point within where commitment falls away. But I think it’s impossible to find the still point. I found that when the seeker of the still point gives up the search
IT finds you
The still point is like a magnet: IT draws you to ITself. And once that magnetic beam has you in its pull, all that you thought you were disappears. Like into a wormhole. Like into another version of the universe.
When I talk to You
do I talk to an object?
You are the Beloved,
– my known ‘Beingness’.
But is Beingness a ‘thing?’
I look and I find You displayed
wherever my senses land
wherever my thoughts lead…
You never hide
but You cannot be found
Yet You only display your creation
– ‘world’ –
via this energy pattern called ‘me’ –
an infinity of ‘me’s.
And I – (with open awe and wonder)
realize that there is no I
that can be anything apart from You.
When I talk to ‘world’
in every shape and form
I talk to You
The butcherbirds are busy in the garden this morning. Mum and Dad are showing Junior the delights of the birdbath, and pointing out promising places to peck for breakfast. Their continuous conversation is so complex, so beautifully melodic. It’s delightful. I am enchanted.
I is hearing. I is singing.
I is enchantment, delight.
I is Beingness, aware of Itself.
Two Miriams, thirty years between their birthdays, are having a mother-daughter chat over morning coffee.
Miriam senior (90) tells daughter that, unable to sleep because of the rising tropical heat, she spent the night fiddling around with curtains and bedding trying to create better conditions for rest.
Then she adds, almost guiltily, “I know I should just ‘be’ with ‘what-is’ …”
Daughter asks, “But wasn’t the ‘what-is’ of the night the heat and the subsequent discomfort? Wasn’t the ‘what-is’ of the night the impulse to find remedies for that discomfort?”
“So how can you say you weren’t wholly ‘being’ with the ‘what-is’ of the night?”
The mother’s face creases with laughter. “I’m such a clot. I still sometimes forget.”
“Clotting is Beingness too! Forgetting is Beingness too. What can we find that’s not Beingness Being?”
Two Miriams, thirty years between their birthdays, crack up with crone-cackle over morning coffee.
The hibiscus was sick, struggling, being attacked by sucking and chewing insects. Once in a while it would open up a spectacular burgundy bloom to the sky, as if sending up a mayday flare.
I tended it with food and water; the predators were transferred elsewhere; infected tips were cut off and it was watched tenderly. But its home ground was devoid of nourishment – the big tree roots had taken, and continued to take, all the life from the little garden. Radical change was called for.
Up it came from the wasteland. Down went its roots into its own prepared pot. A little reiki for recovery, then it went into intensive care.
Within a week every chewed leaf had turned to a glorious display of bright ginko gold. It seemed like a gesture of gratitude, for there was no longer any sense that the plant was ill – indeed, it was robust and new green buds were already appearing.
Yet curiously, not all the old tired leaves left the plant. Some, only a few, remained.
It’s only now that the plant is covered with new leaves and blossom buds that the last of the old ones are dropping off …
Hmmm. Now that’s interesting. Those old unwanted bits of Beingness clearly serve a purpose. They fall away in their own good time.
If I am present, watching, listening, Nature answers my every question. Elegantly, patiently and tenderly. She loves being loved.
Vegetarian souls earnestly give up eating meat, ignoring the insistence of the Meat Marketing Board’s advertising; the health conscious cancel caffeine from their diet yet still use coffee houses as meeting places; many of us abstain from alcohol in spite of the presence of a pub on every corner, and avoid nicotine while remaining visually bombarded by cigarette advertising.
A handful of humans have awakened from the illusion of being a separate rock-solid entity and happily cohabit with the mainstream mass of dreamers. But even when suspicious of its hazardous affects on health, society and the planet, most of us struggle to even challenge the solid-self notion. It’s seldom questioned at all. Such inquiry is reserved for philosophers and mystics. All the contextual ‘evidence’ for separate-self’s sustained existence and validity is trotted out, but none of that is up for scrutiny either.
I wonder why we are never taught the difference between concept and Reality at home, or at school. I guess it would collapse the currency of a materialistic economy if children grew up in disregard of the advertising that would have them believe that happiness had a price and came with conditions, labels and images.
The empty essence of human Beingness is the best kept secret in creation, which is a great shame because the total fulfillment it reveals remains under wraps as well.