When people tell me that they don’t understand the things I write/talk about I know that the only reason they don’t get me is that they don’t understand themselves in the first place. When dealing with me some feel confused about me, some feel frustrated by me, some dislike me, some quite like me—but if they cared enough most of them, I think, would be somewhat fascinated by (their idea of) me. Paradoxically, the less separate I feel from them (us) the more separate they seem to feel from me. The less there is of me and the more I loosen & relax into (us as) life they tend to project more and more of their issues onto me. In other words, people relate to people like me exactly the way they relate to life. It’s not personal at all. It’s just weird.
You belong where you show up fully, where you come out of hiding and open up your heart fully. Where there’s blooming, there’s resources provided.
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.
I drifted awake at around 1.30 last night and strangely enough I felt rested as well as mildly restless at the same time. In fact, I felt compelled to move out of bed, to occupy myself with some ’’productive’’ distraction but I decided to stay put instead and relax against the grain of the compulsion which indeed proved increasingly intense. As I lay there I began scanning my body and soon I detected a strong tension around my neck. No matter how deep I cushioned my head into the pillow I literally felt that I had to hold my head with my neck muscles to prevent it form falling to the right side. It was a weird sensation I felt that if I just let go my head would snap so violently to the right that my brain would scramble in my skull. Like the hilt of hefty sword my neck felt like tensed up into a fist and hard as I tried to convince myself I just couldn’t get myself let go. In the end I resorted to shoving my face into the pillow repeatedly and forcefully pushing the top of my head against the bedpost as well as pummeling my skull with my fist before jamming it (my fist with knuckles protruding) right between my head and the pillow. Only when I propped my head up in such fashion did I feel that I could relax my neck. Curiously, this whole sensation of holding my head felt vaguely familiar, and I started to spin theories about why excessive (poorly managed) stress (stimulation) tends to manifest in the form of headaches, why I am subject to dizziness, why my head feels under so much pressure during take off (by a plane)—was I accidentally dropped as a child? or does it have to do with a neural lock-down since that incident when I crushed my skull (in my teens I was sitting on the ledge of a concrete tub at my grandmother’s when somehow I lost balance and fell backwards hitting the bottom with the back of my head)? I don’t know. All I know is that whenever I don’t feel at peace in the moment I must relax until I do. I must let my body tell me where it is holding back and I must follow the tosses and turns and stories it tells.
it’s up to you
the half-hearted realm of wishy-washy deferral
is the limbo of a juiceless, lifeless existence
build clarity through experiential experimentation
never cease probing
let your actions determine your emotions
not the other way around
the stronger your resolve
the stronger your reason for it
where criticism, failure, resistance and your emotions (in response) become mere fodder for it
to paraphrase Nassim Taleb:
while wind puts out a candle, it fuels a fire
relax, do what feels right in the moment
not what you think would feel right the next
compared to the body
the mind is a shitty guide
but an excellent servant
deep down we all want one thing:
to give love,
with total abandon,
there is a deep-seated compulsion in all of us
to find the way and disentangle our convoluted hearts
to share the love that we are
but most of us go at it the wrong way
we go astray and get lost in a maze of attachment, fear & resentment
because we are not educated on the how
and we are not resourceful and bold enough to relax into its tailspins
we hurt ‘self & other’ in the process
real love is tough
its object is not something or someone specific
it’s grounded in the truth of the moment
it is the eye of the chaos
of our lives