Re: organism and identity / for sg
- --- In firstname.lastname@example.org, "Era"
> > > > > I abslutelly looove them, I used towere
> > > > > sneak into the Watts for sermon
> > > > >
> > > > > Ladies in big hats totally free
> > > > > let it all out dancing ans singing
> > > > > praising the Lord
> > > > >
> > > > > and Gospel music takes the Kundalini
> > > > > high high way high into extasy,
> > > > > better than Ravi Sahankar
> its true for me I am closer to the
> rawness of Gospel vs the etheric Indian Classical music
> > > > I know, I enjoyed a group when I lived in the city. They
> > thebut
> > > > masters of using sound in that way.
> > > >
> > > > > <grin>
> > > > >
> > > > > but white preachers belong to a circus
> > > >
> > > > Our old ethnic church was very sedate and they sang badly
> > thewith.
> > > > things the preacher talked about, you would probably agree
> > Iabout
> > > > think he was a non-dualist but he might have believed in
> > > > reincarnation, it was hard to tell. At funerals he talked
> > > > merging back with god but also about recycling.Yes, the essence is all anyone could ever ask for. The essence of
> > > >
> > >
> > > oh Oniko, if there is an after-life
> > > I most definetly want to spend some
> > > time with you
> > >
> > > we can go to search together for our
> > > friends and see what are they up to
> > Do you think we can remember who we were?
> no, not even the 6 incarnations of
> Buddha remembered, just sensed their
one, or of the few most basic loved components that softly swirl
like snowflakes under a streetlamp.
> there is no "reincarnation" as itsminded
> entertained at these forums which are
> at kindergarten level, best to leave it
> its an exlopsive subject for those "who
> wanna *LIVE*! for ever"
> <grin> oh!
> I believe in fairytales though
> There are pools of ethical values,
> levels of understandings, transperencies
> to hold light and we dwell and share dwellings with the like
> here and there
> > I can't even remember who
> > I am most of the time when I'm dreaming. If you keep still at
> > I might be able to come and say hello to you before I die andmaybe
> > forget.
> please don't forget to say hello
> when you feel like it where ever I be,
> I be happy to hear from you always
> love, Karta
- --- In email@example.com, "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.