Of course there are problems; isn’t that the nature of dreams?
If you wake up from a sleeping-dream which was problem-filled you say, “Oh it was only a dream, whew!”
When you wake up within the big Dream the response is the same: “Whew!”
As they say in the big Down Under: “No worries, mate!”
The first time I sat with Krishnamurti he asked us whether it was possible to live without problems. Just to entertain the possibility. What exactly is a “problem?” he asked.
Twenty years and much deliberation later, spaciousness scribbles: A problem is a thought believed to be real by another thought – the ‘me’ thought. It’s only by inquiring into the nature of thought that one gets a grip on problems. Or, rather, they lose their grip on the tail-chasing thinker.
Problems are as ephemeral as the ‘me’ thought. When the dreamer wakes up to the Dream, problems are seen as Life’s creative unfolding. There is nothing outside of this utterly mind-boggling miracle of Creation.
Someone tells me, migraine-wracked me, “It’s all an illusion.”
In spite of vomiting and pain I have to agree, since there’s no suffering happening. I have learned that to avoid, to move away from whatever suchness is presently presenting, is to suffer.
But in the contrary way of unbidden questions something asks, “If the experience of sickness can be said to be an illusion, what’s aware of the illusion; what knows it to be an illusion?”
The Awareingness that’s aware isn’t a thing. And nothing can be found outside of this Awareing-Knowing, so, how could any experience be said to be an illusion or not-an-illusion?
“Don’t overlook the Reality within the illusion!”
said someone very wise
and this is the most powerful and comforting
mind-medicine one can offer
This sweetly sun-drenched morn, not yet invaded by clamor of traffic and neighbors, is an artwork of breathtaking beauty.
Shadows, patterns, textures, tones and movement mingle – all woven together on the loom of color.
Color is light.
Look carefully at the world:
do you see anything but color?
Nothing but color.
Nothing but light.
What is looking? What sees?
Nothing but looking.
Nothing but seeing.
Nothing but awareing.
Self-shining radiance is the weaver,
working at the loom of color vibration,
creating a world in which to see
folded up on my zafu
venus rising, a brilliance
above the coral horizon
where soon the first
radiance of a new day
legions of bats, black
against indigo, are
winging their silent way
back to their favorite
but it’s still dark enough
for my candle to be
queen of the shadows
and she whispers to me:
“If the light of your awareing
wasn’t brighter than my own,
how could you see me?
I am but a shadow-play
of the unviewable, unlit
Light that you are!
Think on this. And when the
sun climbs over the eastern rim
and reaches into this tiny patch
of sacred space, undressing
think on this again.”
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.
The tropical sun rises in a typically cloudless sky, sails behind tall eucalypts and timber trellis, projects patterns of golden light and shade on the wall – soft foliage, crisscross trellis with hanging orchids, and in sharper focus, the graceful fronds of potted palms, metal filigree of security screen, and the delicate cotton lacework of the curtain.
All is a-shimmer in ceaseless motion – a wondrous appearance that I cannot find anywhere outside of this mind.
And what views the arisings in this mind?
Ahhhh. That’s the question to silence all questions.
and I asked:
if this unlit Light cannot be seen by any kind of viewing apparatus –
since that would be like an eye trying to see its own iris
what ‘saw’ that Light flowing in front of closed eyelids?
what ‘heard’ those archaic words echoing within the skull?
and I was reminded:
always and ever
there is only
the pure self-shining Self