Does the hand that animates a puppet have any real personality? Now: How could a nervous system have one that animates a body? Ponder this: Who/Where/What exactly are you?
There are the faces around that we all are, faces, already fading, about to be forgotten faces, blooming, withering and vanishing sea waves of faces, my face and your face to be lost sooner or later we are to lose no matter how hard we try to save it on facebook, from humiliation and utter oblivion, always already fading from the face of the Earth, every single face you ever face faces to be replaced, by other faces, as our faces have replaced the faces flowering before us, under the sun, nothing special,
Do you see?
Do you see them now?
Do you feel the love you actually feel for all of them? The faces up the streets, in the shops, in the parks and on the trams. The faces at work and the faces at home. The faces from the past, opposite, behind and next to yours, the newborn faces. Out and about. Take a look. Variations on a theme. Beneath all these faces we all share the same essence. Underneath the myriad faces there is only one sameone there.
nothing stays, on the face of it
What remains, in the end, nothing else remains but awareness, of this moment, above and in front of all the toyful joys and the soulfull sorrows of the person who is losing everybody and everything, slowly and surely, all that it—as an I—has ever attained or missed and all that it has ever grown fond of and loved, sooner or later, falls away, and then the truth meets the truth… this heart is breaking and oozing gooey pain at the thought of my parents fading, at the thought of an ex and the countless unpursued prospects blending into the impersonal mass of the female flesh I’m so mesmerized by day by day: nothing remains that I could hold on to, nothing that I can grasp, nobody, noone, nothing to fixate on, nothing that fix(at)es, nothing that grounds me, nothing to write about really, all the writing blurs into noise, another iteration of the same old, same old, everything pixelates, with me in the middle of it all, alive, a heart, ready to burst, or stop, almost, for real, and it’s beating on, for it’s only the mind that is blown away by the overwhelm called truth
White noise dissolves me like aspirin dissolves in warm water. Both aid, for lack of a better term bio-physical alignment too, I find.
All interpersonal glitch stems from the sense of separation. The resolution to this glitch is simply to cease to exist [as a separate self] or as Adyashanti likes to put it: I’ll be free (from ’you’) when you get to be free from ’me.’ In other words, the only place we can truly meet is right in the middle or rather ’in front of’ us where: I don’t need ’you’ to stay with ’me’—I’m not grasping/needy and I don’t need ’you’ to leave ’me’ (be)—I’m not recoiling/avoidant.
Most people want to remain separate and ‘in control’. Most people want to keep dreaming that they are special, unique and separate. They want to remain separate more than they want to wake up to the perfect unity of an Unknown. (Adyashanti)
We think we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. Actually, the only thing you are going to find is the haystack. But it’s hard to see the haystack when you are looking for the needle. —Adyashanti
Don’t look at that little ticker-tape thing in your head and continue to try to get it to be totally unconditioned. Forget it. The problem isn’t that that little thing in your head is conditioned. That’s not the problem. The problem is that you believe it, that you think it’s true, and worst of all, you may think it’s you. That’s the only problem at all. Once you wake up from that dream, it no longer has hold of you. You’re no longer looking through that conditioned mind, you’re not perceiving through its delusions. It’s something that exists within you, you no longer exist within it.
The truth of our being has no center. The truth of us isn’t the center. It isn’t that place that’s interpreting each and every moment, each and every experience. That’s the false self. That’s what we think we are.
Does it feel good to have the center fall apart? Of course, it does. Until the center tries to put itself back together. Then it doesn’t feel so good. But then the center puts itself back together only to say:
—Jeez, that was really nice when I wasn’t here.
It’s a catch 22, isn’t it. The wheel of samsara.
—I like it but I want to be here to reflect upon how good it is. What good is happiness to me if I am not here to reflect on how happy I am.
Happiness happens but it’s not relevant. But to the center it’s always relevant. The center is always reflecting: How do I feel? What do I know? How do I do it? Am I getting there? Am I not getting there? Where am I in all this?
The center is always trying to locate itself.
Instead of feeling we’re simply hearing (in our mind) what others are saying.
Reality doesn’t ’’care’’ about your belief structure.
We think that freedom is the fulfillment of our belief structure, but true freedom is the freedom from our belief structure.
We suffer under this horrendous dream that: My experience of things is how they are. That’s probably one of the greatest trance state of human beings. The way I see things is the way they actually are. It’s one of the most difficult things for a human being to break out of.
The worst thing that can possibly happen to anybody is that they believe a thought. It’s as bad as it gets.