Saying you have no sense of self is not an excuse for bad behaviour, I mean who would say that to start with. Saying things like, "well I have no self so therefore there is nothing i can do about my behaviour", is just another me story. Of course behaviour can be changed. If some one said to me , Lisa you're out of order, I would certainly look at it and if I agree I would change it and endeavour not to continue. Non duality is not about the human doing what it likes and usin
'Me' never made any decisions, ever! It frets and worries thinking there is some kind of security in making a decision, the right decision of course. There is no security. What is spoken of here is the end of security, the end of anyone who could be secure. Me looks for security in things. It looks for security in non duality. It thinks that making the right decision will lead to something safe. No! Nothing is secure for 'me', it is insecurity itself. It lives in a sense of i
Where is it, this happiness? So you’re going along and you search for this happiness. Have you noticed it is always in form, this apparent happiness is imagined always as thought form. Even if it is this so called thing called ‘nothing’ or ‘the death of me’, these are forms. Or you go to a retreat where happiness or completion will hopefully be found. You get there…and nothing has moved. It is still just what is. You always find yourself just here, still appearing as a me! No
Inspired to write this after speaking to dear friend. I paraphrase here..she was told that what she was doing is not non duality and has no meaning. OK so.... All there is, is what is, none of it has more meaning than anything else. This is completeness, one appearance, a singularity, a big pile of energy appearing as different forms. How can one thing have more or less meaning over something else? Subjectively you can say it does and this of course is a personnel story. In r
There is no me, there is no you, there are no persons, there is no-one. This life happening does not belong to any one, there is only life happening. Nothing belongs to anyone, there are only things appearing. 'I' don't relate to anyone, there is no-one. Relating happens. This is all there is. This life is wondrous. Utterly free and not happening to anyone. 'I' think and feel I am here, as 'I', but this appearance does not belong to anyone either. What a miracle!
Old Man Time delights in his beguiling trickery. He laughs as he turns his eternal clock of sands. With a sneaky eye he gives a sideways glance to check his illusion is in place. Old Man Time dwells in no time. His ironic smile blankets his realm with a blithe mist. It suffuses all, snaking into every crevice and prospects all avenues. Old Man Time rubs his invisible hands together with mirth. Satisfied with his work, he gathers up his scrolls of contradiction and studies th
The separate self lives in the fantasy of what is not. At the same time, it is what is. It seeks for the greener grass, the imagined life, even the imagined "this". It seeks for what is not happening. Is it..what is happening, looking for what is not happening.
I live among the silent giants. Ancient masses of rock, whose stories are unknown to me. In a certain light, there is a profile of a dead woman. I recognise her as once residing here. She lies prone, like an age old fable, who's threads were snipped in undefined realms. The giants bellies never rumble, they are full to the brim with their own wonder. The dead woman is absorbed, melting into their timeless sands, forgotten, as if she never walked their trails. Her remains now