organism and identity Re: maria luisa/lower-case
- --- In email@example.com, "Gene Poole"
> > "maria luisa" <mlcanow@y...> wrote:ORGANISM
> >> "Nina" > <murrkis@y...> wrote:
> > > Hi, Maria Luisa, I have no bones (tee hee) with your words,
> > > except that I did want to point out that the body organism
> > > is part of the identity and part of what may be protected.
> > >
> > > To stop and observe reactions to threats
> > > we typically ascribe to 'being of the mind'
> > > and thus only 'threats to identity',
> > > will reveal that these 'threats to identity'
> > > correspond integrally with 'threats to the body'.
> > > The converse is also observable.
> > >
> > > Nina
> > YES NINA,
> > BUT HAVE YOU SOMEHOW KNOWN OR NOTICED THAT EVEN THE BODY
> > ANOTHER PROJECTION OF MIND? IT'S AS UNWRASPABLE AS ANYTHING ELSE
> > ONCE UNDERSTOOD AS A COMPOUND OF PERCEPTIONS (VIA THE FIVE
> > I THINK WE ARE TRAPPED IN THE FIVE SENSES MORE THAN WE ACCEPT IT.deduction'.
> > LOVE,
> > ML
> The body is formed... during gestation in womb...
> under influence of Samskara... thus the body matches
> the eventual identity, which is of course itself built
> according to the aversions and desires which are
> the Samskara...
> Realization... has 'contents' which are the remainder
> of the comparison, of the 'idiosyncratic' to the 'universal'...
> Thus there is 'self-knowledge', which is but knowing of
> what was assumed to be 'self'... it is the 'departed self',
> which now rests, as a record of Samskara...
> Moving forward in life, operating a body which fits with
> an expired identity... this is the choice, compared to
> attempting to make identity 'perfect'... or attempting to
> make the body 'perfect', thus to perfect identity...
> What is the product of Samskara... what was assembled
> around that armature... is what is deducted, thus to make
> 'perfect'... in realization, first deducted is 'identity'... we
> then operate a 'foreign body'... until death, the 'final
> If we take seriously, the challenge to transcend Samskara,
> we also know of patience versus impatience... if this is
> so, we are willing to maintain and pilot the fleshy vehicle,
> until that living record of Samskara is also gently returned
> to its original star-dust.
> ==Gene Poole==
> PS: ML... lower-case is preferred...
MIND LOVES EXPLANATIONS. I PREFER SIMPLEST ONES.
- --- In firstname.lastname@example.org, "Nina" <murrkis@y...> wrote:
> > > When the inspiration fails, it is no worse thanNina, you just made my day
> > > a sandcastle being washed away by the beach tide.
> > > Tomorrow, I build another sandcastle.
> > >
> > > The thing is, I do know that at any time, I could
> > > let go of the sandcastle building... but why?
> > > Maybe you know why and would share the why...
> > SG: one perhaps builds sandcastles until there is no longer
> > an attachment to building and creating a structured form ......
> > Inspirations may be wrapped up in sandcastles .....
> > perhaps at that point one simply creates them out of the joy of
> > the moment..... not expecting them to last but simply for the
> > beauty and joy of spontaneous art and motion which flows from
> > the Bliss of Being here now in this place in this moment .......
> > it needs not carry behind it some representation or hidden
> > meaning it simply is as it is Beautiful and sacred within it's own
> > right.......
> > then as in all things (this creation of the moment) simply falls
> > away so that another image may take its place
> > First one goes beyond the transient unfolding play before it is
> > fully understood and appreciated for what it is ....... then one
> > steps back into the lila and play simply Enjoying that lila as an
> > expression of Infinite Love in motion........
> > Formless or Form it is the same Essense
> > minus the distinguishing factors .....
> > SG: hahahahaha perhaps so .... everything proceeds from
> > Source and returns to Source in some manner......
> > Infinite Love
> 1. There are pictures of this sandcastle building: faded square
> photographs with radiused corners, the blues and greens and sand
> colors of photographs from that time, the reds always slightly
> pungent, as if the pigment were wired and erratic, unsure of its
> place in the film. There we are, squatting in the sand: my blond-
> haired mother, sitting aside, arm around the barrel-chest of the
> small grey dog; my father and a very small I sitting together,
> scraping sand into forms. What the photograph barely hints at is the
> joy of building that sandcastle, part enjoyment of the sand and
> water, part thrill and satisfaction of building it with my father.
> What the photograph doesn't contain is what came later. After
> building it, I felt so much happiness and pride; we played in the
> water, and I kept looking back to see that sandcastle sitting before
> the waves. Then the two boys came, stepping into the sandcastle,
> crushing it. I cried salt tears to the sea, inconsolable, and unable
> to explain or even understand that the greatest loss was not the
> sandcastle, but what the sandcastle represented.
> 2. We like to go early to the beach, before the beach patrol comes on
> line, and let our dogs run off leash. One morning, on the way back,
> we are walking close to the dunes, past a sandcastle left above the
> tide line. One of the dogs stalks the sandcastle, circling it,
> sniffing it carefully, as if the castle might move. She notes the
> hollow center of the castle, and daintily scratches it with one paw,
> once, twice. Moving within the hollow, she begins to dig, throwing
> large arcs of sand beneath and behind her, very efficiently deepening
> the hollow. Sufficiently inspired, she leaps from the castle, and
> runs circles on the beach. She is amazing, lean muscle and arching
> back, her earth-pounding feet carrying her so close to us on her
> returns that her breath is heard and wake is felt.
> 3. After the walk, I remain on the beach after the others return
> home. The sun is coming up, pink and orange, and the sky is humid and
> a thick blue-grey. The moon is still out, and a few stars, but are
> gradually fading in a sky that is approaching their brilliance. I
> stand within the laps of the waves, and look out to the rocking
> shrimp boats, and the long, thin horizon beyond. With each receding
> wave, the water draws sand from beneath the edges of my feet.
> Eventually, I am balancing on two pyramids beneath my arches. I find
> that if I am not perfectly balanced through the soles of my feet as
> these pyramids form, that eventually I must cling to the tops of the
> pyramids with the muscles of my legs, lest my feet slide from the
> pyramids. I stand for a long while like this, trying on new pyramids,
> learning as a matter of course what it is to be perfectly balanced
> within my soles, and how transparent and effortless that feels,
> watching the night suns recede as I am warmed by the heat advancing
> in the eastern sky. At some point, the shrimp boats disappear, and I
> take that as my cue to leave.
> Thanks for your letter, SG.