Guest guest Posted July 12, 2009 Report Share Posted July 12, 2009 The story: Suppose you and a pal are watching a window pane with rain drops hitting it and coursing downwards. You could pick one of the drops, and your pal could pick another, and you could make a friendly few bucks bet that your drop will reach the bottom of the window first. The race begins. Excitement mounts. " Will my drop get hit by another one coming down from above and be able to get to the bottom faster? " you ask yourself. See? You've decided -- nay, make that YOU'VE DECIDED that " you're that drop, " and now, its karma has become yours, and you are concerned, attentive, focused on it. Will your drop be lucky? See? That's your desire set for that small drop mounting up, getting expanded by your attending the drop. Does it veer to the right where there's other drops to join, or does it turn left where hardly anything is " south " of it except still-dry pane? See? Your heart is involved. You want YOUR drop to win the race, be triumphant, obtain gravitational atonement, whatever. At some point, it is no longer " the drop I'm betting on, " and it is no longer " my drop; instead, YOU BECOME IT. You say to your pal, " I'm winning " when that drop surges ahead of the other. Your pal, of course, WITHOUT HAVING TO HAVE A SINGLE TRANSLATE-THE-DROP-METAPHOR THOUGHT, knows what you're saying. To him, you ARE that drop also. Both of you could spend a very long incarnation standing there as the few seconds pass and reveal which of you will finally ALLOW -- give yourself permission to have the emotion of success be authorized to swell within. During that time, well, time itself lengthens like time in a dream does and one lives for ten years in a dream of three minutes. During the raindrop race, you're this tiny entity with a desire that needs fulfilling, with a life-ahead-of-itself, with, yes, a PERSONALITY. " I took that right turn and glommed into that big drop there, and zoom, down I dropped another two inches, while my pal's drop hung up in a dry area and needs to be hit by another rain drop to make any faster progress downwards, and oh, wow, I just noticed that there's this little teeny thread or dust mote in my path, and when I hit it, it might slant me sideways such that I'll then drop down to that very large " pool " below that's just waiting for me to exploit it. HUZZAH HUZZAH HUZZAH! I'M GOING TO WIN! " Like that. Like that. Like that we (egos) ignore ourSELF and identify with things instead. We become things, instead of the consciousness, the silence of amness, that contains them. Our minds identify with each and every thought that passes through. " Oh, I'm that thought. " " Oh, now I'm that thought. " " Oh, now I'm that next thought. " Click, click, click, we incarnate on each drop of thinking traveling down the pane-paths inside our minds. Attending each thought as it arises is a CHOICE. This action, this choosing to be addicted to the thought stream, seems to say, " If I'm that thought, well, then I must want to have another like it, so that I can fulfill that thought's goals, so that it will " win, " so that other thoughts will come also. I must keep thinking that thought and others like it -- just as I wanted my drop to continue to exist and fulfill itself. " Like that. Like that, lIfe is a pane. And, nothing, NO THING, that we can " place a bet on, " will ever be so complex, so beautiful, so meaningful, so deep, so bountiful a metaphor, that it will capture our attention FOREVER. There's the rub. That's the snag. Oooo, the fine print is seen. The Devil's details get ready to chomp ass when we discover that the human mind is a very tiny place. That's why there's 973 cable television shows -- turns out that that number is very close to infinity in that our brains can be overwhelmed with choices. But, nope. Click. Click. Click. Nope, nope, nope. We're seek spontaneous resonance with the next channel. We hope for immersion, identification, something to " ENTER. " We're salivating for something exciting, tar-babyish, sticky-grab-ya, me-me-me; something guaranteed to accept one's imagination's projections upon it, enriched with fecundity, something able to generate the space within which one can imagine one's self enmeshed. Incarnation: it's what's for breakfast. We channel surf to see if we can score a " half hour lifetime, " or hey, maybe even find a " two hour special " lifetime. Whatever. For most of us, we just want a place where we can " hole up " and snuggle with a vision of ourselves -- safely on a screen, having adventures we'd never dare to try in " real " life. We seek drops to bet on. Drops to be. Channels to click on. Portals to peer though. Talk about reincarnation! Talk about taking on a hunk of karma. Our hearts are so vast that it is nothing to us to invest ourselves even in the tiniest of things -- we've got sentience to spare. Remember, as a child, how you followed an ant walking on the ground? Can you remember that small stones became huge cliff faces to climb, that trickles became rivers to ford, that the world was treacherously filled with travails and possible assassins? Do you remember being godlike then, safe inside your brain instead of an ant's? See? We can put our selves into anything. We can invest in any THING. Stare at a dot on the wall for ten years -- oh, it'll come alive, let me tell ya. It'll become the Elvis of all dots. It'll twang its hips and sneer and thank ya, thank ya, verah much. Take a mantra for a few decades in a cave, and it'll fractal on ya -- become infinite without, you know, really being infinite. We've all got GOD BRAINS. We can be anything. We can identify with anything. Nothing is too challenging for us to resonate with. I can read the biographies of Ghandi and then Hitler and then the Unibomber and then Osama's and then Christ's and then -- see?.... no end to it. I can walk a mile in anyone's shoes, and usually I can be found betting a few bucks on it. I'll say, " Oh, that Unibomber sure took risks, and that Hitler smote the earth's masses with a cultural sledgehammer, eh?, and that Christ sure presented a sacred set of truths that would be true in every culture, on every world, in any incarnation. " Like that. Like that. Like that we can walk any walk, talk any talk, be things, be objects of consciousness, feel the flow of concepts like blood shooting through arteries, enliven every Lazarus we encounter with our life-force, our projected awareness. Go see that movie, " Cars. " You're there, right? You're delighting that all the human concepts are so easily seen in that " world. " You can feel all your favorite thoughts as they are triggered by this movie's metaphors -- anthropologically animated cars. Or, save yourself eight bucks, and heck with a movie. And, why be bothered with the ponderousity of having to click a remote and change a channel. What a chore! Instead, better than Spielberg, better than Lucas, better than Hitchcock, when you dream each night you muster up whole universes. Godlike you populate your dreams with every manner of beings with every sort of intent. In your worlds, you create it all: death, love, fear, drama, and great costuming, great lighting, great plots, great dialogue, and utterly utterly believable acting. Or, save yourself the trouble of eyes closed dreaming. Geeze, gotta wash my face, brush my teeth before I can get in bed. MORE WORK! Howzbout: Right here. Right now. You're ENTERING, these words you read. Each word a raindrop, each sentence the path it takes, you identifying with each step. You're pumping these letters with meaning I know not of. You're filling up this post's universe with your projection of self into it. You're CREATING RIGHT NOW. You're identifying right now. You're the Master of Masters right now. Michelangelo cannot best you. Da Vinci is no better. We're all made from divine stuff. We fling out universes with an ease that is as telling as the nakedness of the emperor. We're so obviously pretending at the speed of light. Bang I'm that. Wham, now I'm that. Boffo, I'm so that. Click. Click. One drop after the next gets us to take a ride with it. And every drop offers a roller-coaster thrill. Ask a high energy physicist how long a ride he/she takes when a particle lives for an attosecond. Oh, it's a lifetime for sure. And all the while, there's silence attending everything like a mother with a newborn in her arms. Silence that is the Self. Silence that cannot be ridden, attached to. Yet, silence that will imbue the smallest speck with an honorable intent. Next time you see a drop. Next time you bet on being something for a few seconds or years. Next time you hang your hat. Next time you stop channel surfing. Why not do a non-doing? Why not, for once, just once, you know, just ONCE, why not for GAWD's sake for one measly lousy once, why not JUST ONCE skip being what you see before you, skip identifying with its qualities, skip judging its futures, skip slipping inside its skin, skip wondering how you'd feel winning the Tour De France, skip being on the cross with Christ and swooning as you see so clearly the uncounted futures of every scintillation of sentience, skip being Bruce Willis crunching glass shards with bare feet, skip being a lover, skip being all the things you've been so many gazillion times before. Let it rest. Put down that burden. Close the eyes. Close the mind. Just be. Don't bother being anything. Just be. Ahhh, how sweet that repose. That's the peace that passeth all understanding. You can be Indiana Jones tomorrow, right? No rush to conquer worlds. No rush to author a raindrop. That's the silence of the fully drawn bow. That's God's mind upon ya. And all ya gotta do is this: pause, and it's there. Gotta love it, eh? Edg -- The preacher Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted July 12, 2009 Report Share Posted July 12, 2009 Nisargadatta , " duveyoung " <edg wrote: > > The story: > > Suppose you and a pal are watching a window pane with rain drops > hitting it and coursing downwards. You could pick one of the drops, > and your pal could pick another, and you could make a friendly few > bucks bet that your drop will reach the bottom of the window first. > > The race begins. > > Excitement mounts. > > " Will my drop get hit by another one coming down from above and be > able to get to the bottom faster? " you ask yourself. See? You've > decided -- nay, make that YOU'VE DECIDED that " you're that drop, " and > now, its karma has become yours, and you are concerned, attentive, > focused on it. > > Will your drop be lucky? > > See? That's your desire set for that small drop mounting up, getting > expanded by your attending the drop. Does it veer to the right where > there's other drops to join, or does it turn left where hardly > anything is " south " of it except still-dry pane? > > See? Your heart is involved. You want YOUR drop to win the race, be > triumphant, obtain gravitational atonement, whatever. At some point, > it is no longer " the drop I'm betting on, " and it is no longer " my > drop; instead, YOU BECOME IT. You say to your pal, " I'm winning " > when that drop surges ahead of the other. Your pal, of course, > WITHOUT HAVING TO HAVE A SINGLE TRANSLATE-THE-DROP-METAPHOR THOUGHT, > knows what you're saying. To him, you ARE that drop also. > > Both of you could spend a very long incarnation standing there as the > few seconds pass and reveal which of you will finally ALLOW -- give > yourself permission to have the emotion of success be authorized to > swell within. During that time, well, time itself lengthens like time > in a dream does and one lives for ten years in a dream of three > minutes. During the raindrop race, you're this tiny entity with a > desire that needs fulfilling, with a life-ahead-of-itself, with, yes, > a PERSONALITY. > > " I took that right turn and glommed into that big drop there, and > zoom, down I dropped another two inches, while my pal's drop hung up > in a dry area and needs to be hit by another rain drop to make any > faster progress downwards, and oh, wow, I just noticed that there's > this little teeny thread or dust mote in my path, and when I hit it, > it might slant me sideways such that I'll then drop down to that very > large " pool " below that's just waiting for me to exploit it. HUZZAH > HUZZAH HUZZAH! I'M GOING TO WIN! " > > Like that. Like that. > > Like that we (egos) ignore ourSELF and identify with things instead. > > We become things, instead of the consciousness, the silence of amness, > that contains them. Our minds identify with each and every thought > that passes through. " Oh, I'm that thought. " " Oh, now I'm that > thought. " " Oh, now I'm that next thought. " Click, click, click, we > incarnate on each drop of thinking traveling down the pane-paths > inside our minds. > > Attending each thought as it arises is a CHOICE. This action, this > choosing to be addicted to the thought stream, seems to say, " If I'm > that thought, well, then I must want to have another like it, so that > I can fulfill that thought's goals, so that it will " win, " so that > other thoughts will come also. I must keep thinking that thought and > others like it -- just as I wanted my drop to continue to exist and > fulfill itself. " > > Like that. Like that, lIfe is a pane. > > And, nothing, NO THING, that we can " place a bet on, " will ever be so > complex, so beautiful, so meaningful, so deep, so bountiful a > metaphor, that it will capture our attention FOREVER. There's the > rub. That's the snag. Oooo, the fine print is seen. The Devil's > details get ready to chomp ass when we discover that the human mind is > a very tiny place. > > That's why there's 973 cable television shows -- turns out that that > number is very close to infinity in that our brains can be overwhelmed > with choices. But, nope. Click. Click. Click. Nope, nope, nope. > We're seek spontaneous resonance with the next channel. We hope for > immersion, identification, something to " ENTER. " We're salivating for > something exciting, tar-babyish, sticky-grab-ya, me-me-me; something > guaranteed to accept one's imagination's projections upon it, enriched > with fecundity, something able to generate the space within which one > can imagine one's self enmeshed. > > Incarnation: it's what's for breakfast. > > We channel surf to see if we can score a " half hour lifetime, " or hey, > maybe even find a " two hour special " lifetime. Whatever. For most of > us, we just want a place where we can " hole up " and snuggle with a > vision of ourselves -- safely on a screen, having adventures we'd > never dare to try in " real " life. > > We seek drops to bet on. Drops to be. Channels to click on. Portals > to peer though. > > Talk about reincarnation! Talk about taking on a hunk of karma. Our > hearts are so vast that it is nothing to us to invest ourselves even > in the tiniest of things -- we've got sentience to spare. Remember, > as a child, how you followed an ant walking on the ground? Can you > remember that small stones became huge cliff faces to climb, that > trickles became rivers to ford, that the world was treacherously > filled with travails and possible assassins? Do you remember being > godlike then, safe inside your brain instead of an ant's? > > See? We can put our selves into anything. We can invest in any > THING. Stare at a dot on the wall for ten years -- oh, it'll come > alive, let me tell ya. It'll become the Elvis of all dots. It'll > twang its hips and sneer and thank ya, thank ya, verah much. Take a > mantra for a few decades in a cave, and it'll fractal on ya -- become > infinite without, you know, really being infinite. > > We've all got GOD BRAINS. We can be anything. We can identify with > anything. Nothing is too challenging for us to resonate with. I can > read the biographies of Ghandi and then Hitler and then the Unibomber > and then Osama's and then Christ's and then -- see?.... no end to it. > I can walk a mile in anyone's shoes, and usually I can be found > betting a few bucks on it. I'll say, " Oh, that Unibomber sure took > risks, and that Hitler smote the earth's masses with a cultural > sledgehammer, eh?, and that Christ sure presented a sacred set of > truths that would be true in every culture, on every world, in any > incarnation. " Like that. Like that. Like that we can walk any walk, > talk any talk, be things, be objects of consciousness, feel the flow > of concepts like blood shooting through arteries, enliven every > Lazarus we encounter with our life-force, our projected awareness. > > Go see that movie, " Cars. " You're there, right? You're delighting that > all the human concepts are so easily seen in that " world. " You can > feel all your favorite thoughts as they are triggered by this movie's > metaphors -- anthropologically animated cars. > > Or, save yourself eight bucks, and heck with a movie. And, why be > bothered with the ponderousity of having to click a remote and change > a channel. What a chore! > > Instead, better than Spielberg, better than Lucas, better than > Hitchcock, when you dream each night you muster up whole universes. > Godlike you populate your dreams with every manner of beings with > every sort of intent. In your worlds, you create it all: death, > love, fear, drama, and great costuming, great lighting, great plots, > great dialogue, and utterly utterly believable acting. > > Or, save yourself the trouble of eyes closed dreaming. Geeze, gotta > wash my face, brush my teeth before I can get in bed. MORE WORK! > > Howzbout: Right here. Right now. You're ENTERING, these words you > read. Each word a raindrop, each sentence the path it takes, you > identifying with each step. > > You're pumping these letters with meaning I know not of. > You're filling up this post's universe with your projection of self > into it. You're CREATING RIGHT NOW. You're identifying right now. > You're the Master of Masters right now. Michelangelo cannot best you. > Da Vinci is no better. We're all made from divine stuff. We fling > out universes with an ease that is as telling as the nakedness of the > emperor. > > We're so obviously pretending at the speed of light. > > Bang I'm that. > > Wham, now I'm that. > > Boffo, I'm so that. > > Click. > > Click. > > One drop after the next gets us to take a ride with it. > > And every drop offers a roller-coaster thrill. > > Ask a high energy physicist how long a ride he/she takes when a > particle lives for an attosecond. Oh, it's a lifetime for sure. > > And all the while, there's silence attending everything like a mother > with a newborn in her arms. Silence that is the Self. Silence that > cannot be ridden, attached to. Yet, silence that will imbue the > smallest speck with an honorable intent. > > Next time you see a drop. > > Next time you bet on being something for a few seconds or years. > > Next time you hang your hat. > > Next time you stop channel surfing. > > Why not do a non-doing? > > Why not, for once, just once, you know, just ONCE, why not for GAWD's > sake for one measly lousy once, why not JUST ONCE skip being what you > see before you, skip identifying with its qualities, skip judging its > futures, skip slipping inside its skin, skip wondering how you'd feel > winning the Tour De France, skip being on the cross with Christ and > swooning as you see so clearly the uncounted futures of every > scintillation of sentience, skip being Bruce Willis crunching glass > shards with bare feet, skip being a lover, skip being all the things > you've been so many gazillion times before. > > Let it rest. Put down that burden. > > Close the eyes. > > Close the mind. > > Just be. Don't bother being anything. Just be. > > Ahhh, how sweet that repose. > > That's the peace that passeth all understanding. > > You can be Indiana Jones tomorrow, right? > > No rush to conquer worlds. > > No rush to author a raindrop. > > That's the silence of the fully drawn bow. > > That's God's mind upon ya. > > And all ya gotta do is this: pause, and it's there. > > Gotta love it, eh? > > Edg -- The preacher it's pretty simple simply put in a nutshell. i'm a nutcase myself. ..b b.b. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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