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.

Dreamer in a Dream: A Somnambulist’s Reverie, as Told to a Bird

Benny the Dreamer in SH13

I’m dreaming this dream within a dream, where I’m seemingly lucid within the dream, and scurrying around between life-like characters, shouting, “Wait, stop! Look! Wake up!” Many of them are moaning, from emotional and physical pain, as if there were a war at the beginning of the dream, and this is the fallout. Some of them, however, are happily riding bikes, making bank deposits, reciting poetry, and so on. Apparently, they were not in the beginning of the dream, so they’re oblivious to the mayhem.

Good thing. I leave them to their bikes, banks, and poems. This is triage after all. Finally, out of a feeling a bit like sheer exhaustion, I guess (all tired out, in a dream!), I see that even screaming “Wake up!” is a bit silly. The dream goes on, in spite of my exhaustion.

Like zombie lore, perhaps I figured that to see one is to know one, that this is how zombies gather together–safety in numbers, secret handshake, and all that. And we’re all zombies here! But very few are actually paying any attention to me. (I do get the occasional wink and knowing smile, but these characters just appear, more like the face of the Cheshire Cat, and disappear as soon as they are noticed.) The moaning and the poetry readings go on at the same time, in the same place. Oh, my gosh. What a beautiful, full, rich dream this is! Colorful, loud, dramatic–with a kind of neorealism feel to it, like The Bicycle Thief. Not in black and white, though. Not this one.

And for a moment, in this dream, there is the thought, “Just be sarcastic, that’ll do the trick. Sarcasm does wonders when it comes to snapping people out of a somnambulist reverie, right?” And so sarcastic comments flash through the mind, as I walk and look upon the wounded and the oblivious. But I haven’t the heart, or the stomach. Or, the mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It’s like that, sometimes, in dreams. And, these images are starting to fade around the edges anyway, and morph into something unrecognizable. I can’t even see my own body, come to realize, and don’t know who or where I am, just the viewer of this dream, apparently. Is that moaning coming from me? Or, do I love poetry, too? I watch the disappearing and the morphing (or, it is observed), and seem to have lost my objective here, all that shouting and screaming. So what’s the point, I think, sarcastically?!cardinal_mask_2

Oh, to wake up. It’s a dream, silly. That’s all that I can recall, for the moment…

Wait! I find myself looking out a window that opens out into a miniature garden, telling this dream to what appears to be a very attentive, very red cardinal, resting patiently on a budding branch. Like he’s really listening.

Oh, crap! Dreaming again! Like Wiley Coyote and the Road Runner, the game never stops.

By Way of Introduction: Beginnings

There really is no teaching, no philosophical or religious “truth” to be imparted. There are only ways of looking, of inquiring. What is already known, but perhaps forgotten or obscured, is simply remembered. All that needs to be known, or recalled, is in the question, in the looking that the questions evoke.

The response is then often, “Oh, yes…” Or even an occasional “duh…” And then we go about our business. Yet this “busyness” is seen and engaged in, in a whole new way. Ideas of how things are, or should be, no longer create the tendency of willfulness, want, need (suffering, in a word) the way they used to. You come to see that you are the web, not that which is caught in it.

Hope you enjoy this. iMovie is being learned on the fly, so enjoy the “limits” of technological ignorance, if you’re so inclined.

Thank you!

Negative Capability

20140104-142052.jpg Ignorance is not about what you don’t know. It is the inevitable condition of the mind that thinks it already knows. This is where the taint, the belligerence, of righteousness rears it’s head, keeping ignorance and the maddening itch of irritation intact.

Insight, poetry, comes from the open, wonder-ing place of uncertainty. The greatest gift is an empty box, an unfettered mind. Not full of past associations, heretofore unimagined treasures may then enter in.

None of what is written here is of any Import. What is, cannot be expressed or found in words, but is the unnoticed space in which they’re seen and known.

Let us be curious together, rather than certainly apart.

“I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” ~ John Keats

“A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.” ~ Saul Bellow

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