This post is Joe's fault.
All time is Now. How can you lose what you still have even if it isn't part of the immediate conciousness of the meat "you" are wearing?
Everything IS. Therefore, all good things are Us; all bad things are Us. There is nothing to envy or want. Just because it isn't part of the consiousness that is the locus that "you" consider your "self" doesn't change that some part of "us" is enjoying/enduring whatever is wanted/feared/loved.
(Recognizing that this is said from a Locus of Comfort and that a Locus of Pain would likely want to smack me. At the very least.)
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
And then what?
“Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.”
But, that's the short form and doesn't talk about what it is to live out a Story, ride the meat, with awareness of IS reverberating through the Locus-Formerly-Known-As-Me.
You still ride the merry-go-round. Unless your body is dead and "you" have melted back into the IS, there is a still Story unfolding with You playing the lead. We are all the protagonists in our own stories.
Ramin Bahrani makes movies about people living lives of quiet desperation. And he doesn't ever finish the story of his characters. He just stops telling that one.
His characters aren't world changing heroes. They are people getting by the best way they can. Most characters in the Great Story that is the IS are doing just that.
Would being Aware that they aren't Really Real take way their suffering? Maybe yes, maybe no. How many stories have characters fighting against the idea of being creatures ruled by Fate rather than beings with volition. Thousands? Millions? All of them?
All of Us?
And when "you" let go of the steering wheel...what? Fear? Or relief?
Falling or flying?
I think "suffering", in this context, could just as well be translated "struggling".
The story keeps rolling along, with or without a hand on the steering wheel. It goes where it's going. Like a child sitting in her parent's lap "driving" the car. We may have the illusion of being in control or we may know we are not controlling a damn thing. Our knowing doesn't change the direction of the car.
I find it restful to leave the driving to the IS and just watch the scenery.
But, that's the short form and doesn't talk about what it is to live out a Story, ride the meat, with awareness of IS reverberating through the Locus-Formerly-Known-As-Me.
You still ride the merry-go-round. Unless your body is dead and "you" have melted back into the IS, there is a still Story unfolding with You playing the lead. We are all the protagonists in our own stories.
Ramin Bahrani makes movies about people living lives of quiet desperation. And he doesn't ever finish the story of his characters. He just stops telling that one.
His characters aren't world changing heroes. They are people getting by the best way they can. Most characters in the Great Story that is the IS are doing just that.
Would being Aware that they aren't Really Real take way their suffering? Maybe yes, maybe no. How many stories have characters fighting against the idea of being creatures ruled by Fate rather than beings with volition. Thousands? Millions? All of them?
All of Us?
And when "you" let go of the steering wheel...what? Fear? Or relief?
Falling or flying?
I think "suffering", in this context, could just as well be translated "struggling".
The story keeps rolling along, with or without a hand on the steering wheel. It goes where it's going. Like a child sitting in her parent's lap "driving" the car. We may have the illusion of being in control or we may know we are not controlling a damn thing. Our knowing doesn't change the direction of the car.
I find it restful to leave the driving to the IS and just watch the scenery.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Because it is my heart.
I found an article about dancing a labyrinth by Sherry Bulel several months ago. I really like the article. I love the idea of allowing grace to move into and through us.
But I didn't join her online community. It feels unbalanced to me.
Not Unbalanced/whack job. Unbalanced/all yin-no yang.
And that's fine. There are a lot of communities working on helping people to find joy in the world and that's a good thing. There are a lot of gloom-and-doom websites, too. I don't join them, either.
_____________________________
"Why do you do that if it hurts?" "'Cause it feels so good when I stop."
_____________________________
In The Desert
~Stephen Crane
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”
______________________________
I frequently use the metaphor of Reality as an amusement park to myself and when I'm talking to my sweetheart. Sometimes, the Hall of Mirrors is appropriate; usually when I'm talking about Maya/delusion/ego. Sometimes, its the roller coaster; usually when I mean the story/life of the meat.
In this instance, going with the roller coaster is correct.
______________________________
I am not comfortable with all one or all the other. The roller coaster goes up AND down. The raft pops up on the other side when you lean on it.
Only looking at one side feels like sticking my fingers in my ears singing la-la-la-la-la.
______________________________
It amuses me to find this, TODAY, to add to this post.
But I didn't join her online community. It feels unbalanced to me.
Not Unbalanced/whack job. Unbalanced/all yin-no yang.
And that's fine. There are a lot of communities working on helping people to find joy in the world and that's a good thing. There are a lot of gloom-and-doom websites, too. I don't join them, either.
_____________________________
"Why do you do that if it hurts?" "'Cause it feels so good when I stop."
_____________________________
In The Desert
~Stephen Crane
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”
______________________________
I frequently use the metaphor of Reality as an amusement park to myself and when I'm talking to my sweetheart. Sometimes, the Hall of Mirrors is appropriate; usually when I'm talking about Maya/delusion/ego. Sometimes, its the roller coaster; usually when I mean the story/life of the meat.
In this instance, going with the roller coaster is correct.
______________________________
I am not comfortable with all one or all the other. The roller coaster goes up AND down. The raft pops up on the other side when you lean on it.
Only looking at one side feels like sticking my fingers in my ears singing la-la-la-la-la.
______________________________
It amuses me to find this, TODAY, to add to this post.
Monday, July 12, 2010
I'm a chatterbox, lately. I don't know what that's about.
And I'm still on a "language" jag.
So, here are the latest pieces of flotsam.
Families have languages of their own. In jokes. Weird definitions that come from a shared history. Verbal detritus that comes from years of being in the company of each other. (I can say "That's fantastic" to my mother and she still gives me a look. She used to laugh herself to tears.)
-----------------------------------------------------
Coworkers get their own language. too. Some of it is just jargon, but then there are the weird foibles that happen once or twice and then become habits. (An example is that, in my group, a quick stand-up section meeting for a dispersal of a relatively small piece of information to all of us at once is called a "people/people". No one has a clue how that got started.)
---------------------------------------------------------
Then, there is our response to the physical aspects of the people we encounter. I think we see people through our own history. We meet someone who is similar in appearance or smell or timbre of voice to someone we have known (or still do) and we attribute some of the feelings for the familiar person to the new one. We feel more friendly toward someone who is vaguely reminiscent of some one we already like and are more reserved with someone who reminds us of an asshole. And sometimes those connections are pretty subtle. (Considered previously http://kittypc.blogspot.com/2006/12/perspective.html)
----------------------------------------------
Another way we see the world differently is through our own peculiar and particular senses. Because they aren't the same. Recognizing that some of us need glasses or hearing aids doesn't always help us to realize that our other senses are just as varied. I have a friend who can tell the finest variations in music. It's worth it for him to have a thousand dollar stereo system. He can hear a huge difference from what I get in the earbuds of my MP3 player. I can't. But I can tell Coke from Pepsi from Royal Crown from Shasta.... and on and on. He thinks those are interchangeable. Men are accused of not being able to tell the variations in color shades that women see, and there are studies that back that up as fact.
Hell, just consider the variants of wine tasting. And taste in decorating. There's a reason there are ranges of things going from the sublime to the ridiculous.
And it's all judgement calls. Made by the individual collections of opinions and sensations of an infinite number of collections of .... synapses?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I recall Michael Valentine Smith's amazement at the pleasure of grass when it was walked on. Because it was fulfilling its purpose.
My chair has no conscious enjoyment from having my butt in it, that I know of. But That Which IS. That subtle Bang that Singularly Became the All ....
Conscious? Aware? Maybe aware through all our myriad ...synapses.
----------------------------------------------------------
No wonder that with all those variables, each path is different.
------------------------------------------------------
Alternate realities are Here and Now.
So, here are the latest pieces of flotsam.
Families have languages of their own. In jokes. Weird definitions that come from a shared history. Verbal detritus that comes from years of being in the company of each other. (I can say "That's fantastic" to my mother and she still gives me a look. She used to laugh herself to tears.)
-----------------------------------------------------
Coworkers get their own language. too. Some of it is just jargon, but then there are the weird foibles that happen once or twice and then become habits. (An example is that, in my group, a quick stand-up section meeting for a dispersal of a relatively small piece of information to all of us at once is called a "people/people". No one has a clue how that got started.)
---------------------------------------------------------
Then, there is our response to the physical aspects of the people we encounter. I think we see people through our own history. We meet someone who is similar in appearance or smell or timbre of voice to someone we have known (or still do) and we attribute some of the feelings for the familiar person to the new one. We feel more friendly toward someone who is vaguely reminiscent of some one we already like and are more reserved with someone who reminds us of an asshole. And sometimes those connections are pretty subtle. (Considered previously http://kittypc.blogspot.com/2006/12/perspective.html)
----------------------------------------------
Another way we see the world differently is through our own peculiar and particular senses. Because they aren't the same. Recognizing that some of us need glasses or hearing aids doesn't always help us to realize that our other senses are just as varied. I have a friend who can tell the finest variations in music. It's worth it for him to have a thousand dollar stereo system. He can hear a huge difference from what I get in the earbuds of my MP3 player. I can't. But I can tell Coke from Pepsi from Royal Crown from Shasta.... and on and on. He thinks those are interchangeable. Men are accused of not being able to tell the variations in color shades that women see, and there are studies that back that up as fact.
Hell, just consider the variants of wine tasting. And taste in decorating. There's a reason there are ranges of things going from the sublime to the ridiculous.
And it's all judgement calls. Made by the individual collections of opinions and sensations of an infinite number of collections of .... synapses?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I recall Michael Valentine Smith's amazement at the pleasure of grass when it was walked on. Because it was fulfilling its purpose.
My chair has no conscious enjoyment from having my butt in it, that I know of. But That Which IS. That subtle Bang that Singularly Became the All ....
Conscious? Aware? Maybe aware through all our myriad ...synapses.
----------------------------------------------------------
No wonder that with all those variables, each path is different.
------------------------------------------------------
Alternate realities are Here and Now.
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