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Re: organism and identity re: maria luisa/nina

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  • Nina
    ... Thanks, Bobby G., good to see your perspective. Nina
    Message 1 of 105 , Sep 30, 2003
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      > Hi Nina:
      >
      > I have a different way of looking at what you were speaking of.
      >
      > You wrote: "It is in the rapid assimilation of these experiences
      > of difference, that the "I" sense begins to form,
      > from most simple to the most complex.
      >
      > It is through the body that these experiences are had,
      > and it is through the body, that the mind
      > forms the original sense of "I"."
      >
      > My take is that "the sense of I" is the reflection of The Self
      > (Consciousness)in the mind. In other words, it is the symbol for
      > the Self the way the word or image of a tree is the symbol for the
      > things we call trees. Because Consciousness is never ending and
      > continuous, the symbol for it is always there and ready to be used
      > as the proprietor. Holding the sense of I continuously in the
      > mind's eye, allows the sense of beingness or self luminous
      > consciousness to be unclouded by the changing activities of the
      > mind. It is the alpha-omega, the first and last thought.
      >
      > Consciousness cannot simultaneously be used to recognize and be
      > the thing recognized by the mind. Since the body mind complex uses
      > consciousness to know anything as existent, it must form an image,
      > an "I", to be used as an object, to infer and/or think about itself
      > as existent.
      >
      > It is the constant confusion of the created "I" with its very real
      > referent that is dualism.
      >
      > Love
      > Bobby G.

      Thanks, Bobby G., good to see your perspective.

      Nina
    • Era
      ... Nina, you just made my day smiles
      Message 105 of 105 , Oct 5, 2003
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        --- In meditationsocietyofamerica@yahoogroups.com, "Nina" <murrkis@y...> wrote:
        > > > When the inspiration fails, it is no worse than
        > > > 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.
        >
        > Nina


        Nina, you just made my day

        smiles
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