(which it always has been, and yet …
we are prodigals by some divine default)
over the dream-drama called a life
it doesn’t mean you know what’s going to happen;
it means the absence of needing to know
and the presence of an eager, innocent
it doesn’t mean you understand the meaning of life;
it means absence of a need for ultimate meaning
and the presence of ceaseless curiosity:
it doesn’t mean your life-map and context necessarily change;
it means your relationship with everything changes:
what used to need analyzing, fixing, healing,
is no longer a problem
see, you’ve dissolved into this
innocence and wondering and relating
that a tiny thought-form
held you separate from
one tiny thought-form!
dear wee trumped-up me
When you come into Jung’s second stage, the last half of life, the quest is for the import of the OM that you’ve heard in the heart chakra, so that it will become the forming and structuring energy of your life, without care for achievement, without care for prestige.
~ Joseph Campbell
She-who-scribbles found that the quest doesn’t end with the finding of – and understanding the significance of – the OM in the heart chakra, although it’s a very pleasant place to take a rest.
The inquiry moves on. It now asks, what ‘hears’ the OM in the heart chakra? What is this slippery subject that seems to be aware of all this questing and OM-ing? Why can’t it observe itself no matter how cunningly it’s stalked? Why, when it can’t ever be avoided or escaped, can it never be known?
Then one fine day you’re sitting with these questions alone refusing to accept the answers of another no matter how reputedly awake and the penny drops right through the works and takes the questions with it and you just crack up guffawing. OM-G.
Image: Sculpture by Ernst Barlach, 1937, bronze, 20.8 x 30.96 x 12.38, Los Angeles County Museum of Art
being seeing is being peace
yes, but who is “being seeing”?
no one, only the beingness of sensorial perception
– some folk would call it primordial awareness
yes, but who is “being peace”?
no one, only the beingness of choiceless awareness
– some folk would call it pure consciousness
yes, but “who is”?
no one, only all-that-is, right-now, right-here
– some folk would call it simple suchness
My eyes pop open in the pre-dawn half-light and I see two huge hares, just outside the window. Their heads are so huge! Their long antennae-ears are tipped with black, creating the appearance of eyes on the tips of rotating arms. Sitting on the dew-drenched grass, they move their ears constantly, turning this way and that, bringing one forward or back, or both. They seem keenly interested in the raucous morning dialogue of nearby kookaburras.
Everything is shouting this morning – the whooping mountain whip birds, the rooster, the parrots; even the guinea fowl are making their clicking contribution.
It’s a dawn of clear and gentle loveliness; the sanctity of the earth is like a long, slow exhalation. Resting in its embrace is bliss.
“The thinker is the thought,” said Krishnamurti
opening a whole chapter of self-inquiry for this scribbler.
But no thinker can be found
and no thought can be caught.
Thinking’s happening; thoughts arise
and one of them likes to think it’s a thinker.
Hare from here.
thoughts are ceaselessly arising:
the ones that get attention
w o w
Simplicity isn’t a result, an outcome of effort or aspiration. You can’t cultivate it by de-cluttering or embracing the ‘zen’ aesthetic.
Like wild wideawakeness simplicity is a reflection of original innocence – uncomplicated, unadorned, naked.
It flowers naturally when there’s no longer anyone who needs to impress their apparent world with aggrandizement of body or belongings – including the intellect and the movie of personal experience.
Simplicity surfaces when thinking knows its place.
This morning, after so many sodden days wrapped in mist, the mountain emerges under the gaze of the great Shining.
A verdant world is revealed. Greens of every radiant tone, still heavily wet, sigh under skies of powder blue. The grass, dotted with little red mounds of ant-work, is alive with leaping jumping whirling insect life, and seven fat guinea-fowl are busy breakfasting.
The cottage is named Bliss.
We really don’t have a clue what we do. Life acts and we assume responsibility – praise, blame, satisfaction, regret, guilt. If you still imagine that you ‘know’ what you do, that you drive your Lifeboat, no doubt you’ll still be suffering one way or another.
If you want to understand why you suffer you’ll need to want it a great deal, for it will take all your powers of choiceless observation. That involves patience. It means being able to endure not being sure of anything. It means no conclusions.
If you can bear to look for yourself at all the ways you sabotage the truth of your non-existence, you’ll understand the root of suffering.