I've been feeling freshly conscious of an aspect of being human that's so constant and fundamental it seems weird to me that it isn't a subject of everyday conversation. It's simply this: that at the background of all my activities and interactions, behind all the containers I pour myself into from moment to moment, is my awareness of the boundless ocean of awareness itself.
#4761 - Friday, November 16, 2012 - Editor: Jerry Katz
- #4761 - Friday, November 16, 2012 - Editor: Jerry KatzThe Nonduality Highlights http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights/Ramesam Vemuri writes:Did you see this agony and ecstasy of 'seeking' -- such a beautiful piece of Advaita, but the authoress (a Fellow Canadian?) seems to be blissfully not knowing!
Big SpidersBy MARGIT HESTHAMMARI feel it as an amoeba-like latency, an unruly sea of infinite possibility, lurking in the back room - exciting, ominous, darkly beckoning. It conjures up the image Jonathan Franzen uses in his novel "The Corrections" of an impending thunderstorm: "big spiders in a little jar." Only the jar in this case is infinitely vast, the spiders correspondingly enormous. They huddle in the back room, waiting for the lid to come off. Waiting to leak or seep or sneak through some hidden cat-door and flood the room I live in.
With it is the chronic background anxiety that if I don't pour myself into this or that (read my book, clean the house, or at the very least think a bunch of thoughts), I'll fall into this ocean of shapelessness and lose all sense of definition. I'll be ejected from the safe confines of my predictable foreground world, where all the familiar experiences live: the sensations and tastes and textures that confirm my sense of who I am.
I live in this foreground world. I depend on it for my orientation, my ability to navigate through a day. It supports my belief that I am a separate, cohesive individual.
But I'm haunted by the knowledge that foreground can't exist without background, any more than weather can exist without sky. The existence of the one necessarily implies the existence of the other. Despite this, I restrict my attention to the foreground. I keep my settings on "busy."
Still, I'm haunted by implications. Something whispers that I'm only living half a life. And the half I'm living is coming way too fast. I'm on the down escalator trying to run up, but no matter how fast I run, I stay in the same spot - always a little agitated, a little lost, a little hungry.
What to do? The logical solution would be to check out the background. Be adventurous, explore this vastness that breathes so continually down my neck.
Easily said. Unhappily, when I do stray, accidentally or intentionally, into this formless background, I recall all too quickly what the foreground commotion is doing for me.
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Margit Hesthammar is a writer, career advisor and teacher in Vancouver, British Columbia. She is the author of the forthcoming book, "Choosing Work (Before Work Chooses You)."