Seen; Unseen. Summer; Winter

Winter Spring Summer and Fall, by Gray Artus

Winter Spring Summer and Fall, by Gray Artus

Summer is the substance of things hoped for; winter, the evidence of things not seen.

So that what is seen in summer is not made out of things which are visible, but out of what is invisible in winter.

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This morning, seeing the spider webs glistening, the ants everywhere, busy–the flowers still blooming, the dog sleeping, breathing, chest rising and falling.

Last night, the spider  crawling on my arm. It was felt before it was seen.

I am in the web. Not caught, but weaving.

Nothing to Fix. Just Look!

What is paid attention is what is noticed. “Notice” is derived from gnosis. What is noticed is what is known. What is known is what is, is what you are. To know is to be, I am. Why attend to “the problem,” when the whole world shows its perfection? We have only to pay attention, to notice.

Our Eternal Slumber Party; Promises Made

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If only there were something I could tell you,
That you don’t already know.

Like in the night we lie awake in a tent in the backyard,
Flashlights towards our faces.

We pretend to be scared, but giggle instead,
While parents sleep, in a room.

We are out there with the crickets and stars,
Sounds and brights fill up the space.

We are children in a wild short night of summer,
Tentatively committed to losing…this.

That’s what we tell each other in that airy encampment,
Pinky-swear we will never forget.

We imagine boys, girls, cars, the Beatles, and houses with sticky children,
And scrunch up our faces, like grandmas look.

Till we fall asleep, somehow, between the hoots of an owl,
And dream of a time before Adam’s silly rib.

Someone, maybe a kind but unruly God, or the Owl Himself,
Puts the little rib back where it belongs.

Though we sleep, we never really lose ourselves this night in Gemini,
My twin. We have a deal! To remember.

You are always a terrible liar, but a great pretender,
And promises we keep, with imaginary friends.

Remind me of this starry night where we make it all up,
Never-ending, as per our agreement.

Together, we are back in that night of freedom and audacious crickets,
Where we imagine, to make a world out there.

You tell me; did we ever? Were we ever?

See Beauty, Hear Harmony, Taste Freedom, Touch Peace: Wake Up! Smell the Coffee

The intent of these videos is to change the mind, shift the attention, towards the peace and freedom that is here, always, inherent as the true nature of this that you are. May your eyes turn toward the ineffable joy, win your heart and engage your fullest attention.

Music by JC Lemay.  You can find more at deepsound.net.

Thanks for watching.

Videos, Part 5: Nothing Separate, A Visual Pointer, and Part 6: Space and Time

 

This video was originally posted on YouTube with some audio distortions. Those distortions have been fixed. So I’m reposting so as to do justice to the song, Hymn For The Greatest Generation, by Caspian. Because it’s a lovely piece of music, and should be heard in it’s original form. Here’s to easier listening, now that the audio problems have been fixed. Thank you for your patience.

 

I’ll be making meditation mp3s for all of the videos, and will be offering them here on the site, when available. All 6 Deepest Peace videos can be found here. Thank you! And happy viewing.

Context: Many Teacups for Sipping Sweetness

il_340x270.478965392_iar6In a prior post, I wrote, the “seeing becomes the teaching,” meaning that what is experienced goes beyond any teaching. Experience here, is the thing–not the context, the words, the method, or the framework. We can read Wu Hsin, the Bible, Adyashanti, Nisargadatta, or any contemporary teacher, and what we have is context, the shell around the kernel. All of this, as experienced, is outside of and in many ways, limited by, context.

What is the experience of watching a radiant sunset? Of spending time in play and foolishness with children? Of reading a finely-crafted poem? The intoxicating smell of lilacs? These are the true pointers. In fact, they are not even pointers, but the experience of–what seems to be something other than self, but is nothing but Self, knowing ItSelf.

Words may point to this, but too often the mind, or the me gets involved, a context is created and appended to, and the experience is overlooked. The experience of knowing the words, not understanding, but being in that place where something is touched, where any sense of division falls away, if only for the moment:  Seek no further. Continue reading

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free!

homeImagine having nothing to look forward to,
Random images called the past, fading, gone.
Imagine the speechlessness,
Of finding this here, without a word to name it.
Never repeating, this moment.
No other moment impinging,
Upon the sense of it all.

Imagine.

It is not a different moment than this.
There is nothing else.

Tag! You’re It.