What can be said about the overpopulation of the planet? What can be said about starvation, about terrorism, about climate change? What can be said about the spread of diseases like AIDS?
Whatever is said or imagined by thought will be the product of conceptualization – the same source that produced the problems, the questions, and that endlessly spins the solutions. But genuine change cannot be wrought by thought’s projections, for it only knows the known, and the known is the past. Revolution is never creative; it may be innovative, but that’s not the same as creative. Innovation is generated by thought re-arranging what it already knows. Is it possible for thought to find a new question? Or can new questions only arise from That which is beyond thought?
What thought knows cannot be the Truth for Truth is changeless and unknowable.
Go for the guts of IT: find the changeless, unknowable Truth and then see what happens to the rest.
Watch in amazement as Life rises to meet ITself – with wisdom and compassion and your name on ITs ID card.
The news that one exists only as a concept in consciousness is unacceptable for most folk.
Struggling so seriously, so arduously, to create a self (a whole self, a creative self, a healed self, a true self, a higher self), most refuse to contemplate the credentials of the crafty creator of the struggle.
This struggle is familiar to me; it used to be the story of my life. But one day the layer of stories holding together the self I took to be ‘me’ was subjected to a blow-torch – the choiceless, value-free Light of inquiry. Like tired old wallpaper it dried up, peeled back and fell off.
‘I’ is all that’s left and every-thing every-one every-where is this ‘I.’
I = Awareingness, intimate and inescapable
I = Consciousness, in which all concepts find their context
In this unknowable ‘I’-ness who needs a ‘me’?
‘I’ tells me who:
L I F E
More musings on Grace: The ‘something’ that happens to return me to now, to Life, is usually something I want least. I mean, who would welcome pain and immobility? Who would sign up for surrender of career, colleagues and culture?
We love to welcome Grace in its function as provider of pleasant surprises and serendipities. But Grace can also bring unpleasant surprises.
Grace is function and fire.
Grace is Life’s creative dynamism.
Grace is Life on the return loop of Its journey.
Grace is what undoes ‘me.’
Sitting later today. The sun is hotter, the shadows shorter; traffic noise is louder, but drowned out by a raucous conversation being held outside my window.
Four flying rainbows called lorikeets are in a dispute with one huge kookaburra: What a drama! What a racket! You’d think a flock of fifty birds was out there, but no, only five. First class Australian citizens . . . (only joking!)
I write 27-01-44 when asked for my date-of-birth, yet the Life that took ‘first breath’ that day was never born.
It’s not exactly rocket science to come to this conclusion; one just follows the tracks of the genealogists a little further than the norm.
Where did the Life that animates this breath have its beginning?
How can I claim it began in this body-mind cocoon, fruit of the sexual activity of two other body-mind cocoons, whose unique genetic and phylogenetic imprints were systematically combined and passed on? Or was it in the imprints of their parents? Or their grandparents? Or their great-grandparents?
The Life that animates each one of us harks back to the first cell-division. We share ancestry. We go back to the One. We share – we are – Creation’s initial impulse to forge the miracle of existence from the void.
Time to put down the pen; this is all starting to sound too Biblical for a baby-boomer.
returning to Life is wonderment
‘ONE’derment wraps one in atonement
at‘ONE’ment is ‘n’
‘n’ is now-this-here
now-this-here is suchness
suchness is ultimate ‘I’-ness
How I craved silence; how I loved the deafening silence of mountaintop, ocean depth, uninhabited desert.
It was a fix for my mercurial mind,
a de-frag for the neocortex.
In the suchness of this Life, another Silence is now present.
It has nothing to do with noise
Abiding in, from, – no – as that silence
is living in a boundless space
where noise and no-noise meet no resistance.
Something about that ‘disconnected’ door-chime rang a bell: a neuron noticed; a metaphor morphed.
Wild wideawakeness is like that ungovernable power which, under the appropriate circumstances, appears as lightning.
The door-chime is like the ‘person-pattern’ – whether onto the ‘game’ or not, connected or disconnected, the potential energy (aka Life ITself) is always in place.
When widewakeness strikes, it doesn’t only set off the door-chimes, it blows the door IDEA wide open.
And along with it goes the whole IDEA of a separate unawake little old ‘me.’