Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Monday, October 1

Expand Messages
  • jerry@nonduality.com
    TONY O CLERY Daily Words of the Buddha October 1, 2001 Whoever takes a stick to beings desiring ease, when he himself is looking for ease, will meet with no
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 3, 2001
    • 0 Attachment
       
      TONY O'CLERY

      Daily Words of the Buddha
      October 1, 2001
       

      Whoever takes a stick
      to beings desiring ease,
      when he himself is looking for ease,
      will meet with no ease after death.

      Whoever doesn't take a stick
      to beings desiring ease,
      when he himself is looking for ease,
      will meet with ease after death.

      Udana II, 3

      ___________________________________________________________________

      GLORIA LEE

        Memory alone seems to justify our idea of
        continuity, our impression of being the same
        individual from our birth until our death rather
        than a series of innumerable individuals, each
        resembling the other but each one different, in the
        end giving the impression of gradual change; so that
        this faculty of memory would seem to be the least
        illusory element in our 'self' We can claim that
        alone as being truly ourselves. Our notion of
        continuity has no other basis.
       
       wei wu Wei
       
      ****************************************

             The Natural State

      ***
      Once Ramaswami Pillai searched for a key. After
      sometime he found it.

      Maharshi :

           The key was in its usual place. It was not lost.
           Only his memory of it was not there.
           The Self is everywhere.
           Not being aware of this due to forgetfulness
           of  our real nature ,we keep searching for it.
       

       *****************  from *********************
      " A Practical Guide to Know Yourself"
        Conversations with Ramana Maharshi

        Compiled and Edited by A.R.Natarajan
      **********************************************

      _____________________________________________________________________

      GENE POOLE

      Greetings, Melody!

      I admit that I am enjoying your agony.

      This is not because I enjoy agony or the idea of
      your suffering. I am enjoying it in the same way
      that I enjoy the agony of a woman who is giving
      birth.

      Years ago, I gave birth to myself. The labor was
      incredible; 'agonizing' does not adequately
      describe the experience. God's own chiropractor
      materialized to facilitate this process. Moments
      after giving birth, I died, my purpose finished.

      Since my birth, I have lived 'with a vengeance'. I
      do not hand out soporifics to those who are in the
      agony of birthing themselves. Neither do I pander
      to those who do not understand the meaning of this
      rare and powerful experience.

      It is hard to say that a person who is at the very
      cutting/ bleeding edge of the womb of worldly
      custom deserves everything they get, but it is
      true. It is entirely natural for one who 'has the
      gumption' to escape, to explode/go super-nova once
      the confines/constraints of worldly ways has been
      left behind.

      How can I explain or even describe, how this
      radiant and fiery ferocity is an immediate and most
      real love? How can I testify and be understood, to
      say that the shocking immediacy of reality itself,
      is a good thing, not needing any intermediary
      'priests' to lessen or pad the impact of
      un-mediated seeing?

      Knowing as I do, the unknown and terrifying
      deliberateness of this forbidden movement, I also
      know that there is really nothing I can say or do,
      which can in any way mitigate the agony of feeling
      each infinitely tiny particle of oneself being
      drawn through a membrane which does not want to let
      go, somehow the equivalent of having dental
      extractions without anaesthesia.

      I do know that the trail of tears ends here, that
      the curtain has been pulled aside, the veil rent
      asunder, the smarmy and squalid overlay of denial
      set afire, the funeral pyre of all that was
      futilely hoped, now dying, piece by piece.

      Not even hoping to be understood,

      Gene Poole

      ____________________________________________________________________

      PETROS (from Petros-Truth list)

      Mandalas are the pictorial representation of the
      Rectification (right ordering) of the contents of
      consciousness as accomplished by the Seer. Not only
      the Buddhists and Hindus possess such designs, but
      the Western seers, too, like Boehme and Blake and
      -- in literary form but still "visual" --
      Swedenborg. Mandalas are not the highest
      manifestation of the Real, because there is still a
      Seer and a thing Seen, obviously. Only when the
      mandala itself is surpassed is the Real perfectly
      reached. Take this symbol as your mandala for unity
      in awakening: imagine an Eye in the center of a
      heart, representative of perfected vision and
      perfected vitality or emotion. It is the Witness,
      the observer, in the very Heart of What Is
      Observed. It is subject and object wed, the union
      of the ajna (third eye, in the center of the
      forehead) and anahatta (heart) chakras.

      -- from _Keys to the Gate of Divine Truth_ by
      Petros (1997)

      ___________________________________________________________________

      ERIC ASHFORD

      AUTUMN

      All summer we sail the soul in our inner sky born
      upon its sea green heart. The changing of the
      season reminds us that there must be an enfolding
      as well as an unfolding. A moving inwards to
      enclose the experiences of our fervent solstice.
      There must be time to read our runes, that the
      greening may bring new fullness, from the ripened
      term, and from the branch that stretched too far to
      hold this time.

      Times mercy is that it conserves our significance
      as autumnal repose, to mull the new wine internally
      for certain awakening. This season of involution,
      husbands the gathering to maturity. We let go of
      the growing, that it might be the planting of
      potential. That the stock of our awareness becomes
      the store of foresight.

      Autumn changes the way the heart responds to
      itself. It no longer opens only to receive, but to
      conceive itself in this new wind of change. It
      embodies the gifts of the summer, that the harvest
      be not depleted by forgetfulness. The womb of
      insight envelopes the souls fleeting affairs, to
      germinate yet further light.

      For every advance of aspiration there is a season
      of contemplation that must be the dormitory of new
      arising. A time for the bearing of spirit children,
      nourished by the fall of the green leaf to grow in
      comprehension. Autumnal hearts are the seedbed of
      Gods becoming consciousness. They are pregnant with
      seasoned purpose, being the vestibule of new
      emerging.

      Just as a bird that flies too high may wound itself
      on the unsupporting air, so the soul must regain
      yet greater wings to take the air once more. It
      challenges the dusk to be the rebirth of flight.
      And so the dusk of the dying season is the nursery
      of yet higher revelations of reality.

      Autumn is the time of temperate confinement, a time
      of quietude, that the soul may absorb the lessons
      of its journey in God. This pilgrimage is to the
      heart of love, that is both the sanctuary and
      inception of all heart traveling. Autumn reforms us
      in the likeness of divine renewal. It is the
      harbinger of resurrection, and the pause that
      inspires our next step.

      Here we abide in the unwinding of lights coil, and
      pray into the world, the fullness of our
      understanding. The leavings of yesterday become the
      flowers of tomorrow, and so we say- This much I
      have known, and by this, I shall see my way.
       
       

      Every now and then,
      all the green shoots
      and tender buds
      of a love between people
      come shyly up
      through the surface of this world,
      and we remember that all night
      they have been growing together
      in the same garden.

      Every now and then,
      someone drinks a cup of wine,
      and for no clear reason,
      nourishes the world.
      The drop of every heart
      becomes a flood,
      and we all begin to pour.

      Every now and then,
      a person will surrender his interests,
      accounts, and dogmas.
      He will begin to fall like autumn,
      just for the sake of losing,
      and so we are all changed
      by his season.

      Love is not tempted
      by anything less than itself.
      Sleepers awake in every heart.
      Every now and then,
      autumn drinks the summer down
      and we all fall into spring. 


      http://nonduality.com
      http://nonduality.net
      http://nonduality.org
      http://www.livejournal.com/users/awesboss
       

    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.