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Seekers and Domestic Cats

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In a message dated 11/4/2008 11:27:21 A.M. Pacific Standard Time, pedsie6 writes:

 

I owned a big smart tom in the lateeighties. He was a maverick. ;) Icalled him Gorby because he was ablue tabby with a ragged black markin his forehead.Gorby loved to hunt mice, and therewere plenty of those in my basement.He loved the hunting and killing, butnever ate the mice. He played withthe carcasses for a while, and then lostall interest. Dead mice couldn'tcompete with cheap cans of tuna, and bitsof ham, and the cat pellets he consideredfood.Seekers are like him, they love thechase, but have no taste for somethingimmobile, silent, inert, empty, dead.They rather twirl in the whirlwind thanlive within the eye.Petehttp://cerosoul.wordpress.comhttp://awakefiction.wordpress.comPete

 

 

'Eye' agree. The eye is boring to the mind. Nothing is happening. No goals are accomplished, nothing added or modified in the self. Conceptual peace is boring, as is conceptual love, and joy fades quickly. None of them satisfy for long because they're just fake, dualistic copies of the real thing. Even when the real thing shows up, somebody wants to own it, and we're back to chasing mice again.

 

 

 

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I owned a big smart tom in the late

eighties. He was a maverick. ;) I

called him Gorby because he was a

blue tabby with a ragged black mark

in his forehead.

 

Gorby loved to hunt mice, and there

were plenty of those in my basement.

 

He loved the hunting and killing, but

never ate the mice. He played with

the carcasses for a while, and then lost

all interest. Dead mice couldn't

compete with cheap cans of tuna, and bits

of ham, and the cat pellets he considered

food.

 

Seekers are like him, they love the

chase, but have no taste for something

immobile, silent, inert, empty, dead.

They rather twirl in the whirlwind than

live within the eye.

 

Pete

http://cerosoul.wordpress.com

 

http://awakefiction.wordpress.com

 

 

Pete

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Nisargadatta , Pesi <pedsie6 wrote:

>

> I owned a big smart tom in the late

> eighties. He was a maverick. ;) I

> called him Gorby because he was a

> blue tabby with a ragged black mark

> in his forehead.

>

> Gorby loved to hunt mice, and there

> were plenty of those in my basement.

>

> He loved the hunting and killing, but

> never ate the mice. He played with

> the carcasses for a while, and then lost

> all interest. Dead mice couldn't

> compete with cheap cans of tuna, and bits

> of ham, and the cat pellets he considered

> food.

>

> Seekers are like him, they love the

> chase, but have no taste for something

> immobile, silent, inert, empty, dead.

> They rather twirl in the whirlwind than

> live within the eye.

>

 

 

 

They are the whirlwind.

 

The I is empty.

 

 

 

toombaru

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