Devotion
What is my devotion? It is not a ritual (or perhaps it can be seen as one, but let's not do that). Why? Because there is no action to it, an action requires a doer.
What is my devotion? It is to see that there is just This.
This is not me, it's nothing. It's the very ISNESS of all things we know as objects or make objects from in our minds which itself is an object, a reflection like two mirrors facing each other.
The World, that is This in its Form, manifested as what we know (anything you may know including 'you, me') is an enchantment. It takes us, so it seems, into a story and we forget, so it seems, that in the end this story is just This.
This is the Great Holy Stuff. Why great and holy? Great because it is everything, greater than that you can't. Why holy? Boy are you kidding me? What imense ass-kicking power can This be so that you can sit on your chair and make the sharp-cutting statement that there is something at all existing?
There is something.
There is something.
Can there be nothing? How could there be a 'nothing'? Where would that nothing stand on? See where i'm getting at?
No my devotion is not to bend forward. My devotion is to see the bending or whatever silly movement is not mine, that the very idea of being a 'me' is an enchantment. It's beautiful.
See what you see. Be what you are. It's all too so precious.
It goes. It is the going. It never comes back. Seizing it in the now is the art of life. The sole purpose of there being something at all.
Imagine death. It means not death to This.
It means death to the 'you'. Don't be scared, you are not the 'you' you know. That one is just an idea. A cloud. You are the sky wherein the cloud takes place. The cloud we'll surely miss. This is also the beauty of this.
Attachment.
Attachment is soo beautiful.
It is love because we genuinely know, actually we know only this: that things are transient. And we are scared to lose them, to lose everything.
We are like some kid in a toy shop who wants all toys but can't even hold more than what fits in his arms. You need to let go of one to get another.
The art of life is like something i am sure exists but i can't point at. Some job or something where you have to do something but not too much. Please come up with an example?
Not now ok.
Anyway, the devotion: there is just The Great Holy Stuff. Just this.
Watch the letters of words, see words are letters, possibly ink.
Watch the movie and see it's just a screen, possibly pixels.
Watch things and see it's just life, and possibly just being.
What is my devotion? It is to see that there is just This.
This is not me, it's nothing. It's the very ISNESS of all things we know as objects or make objects from in our minds which itself is an object, a reflection like two mirrors facing each other.
The World, that is This in its Form, manifested as what we know (anything you may know including 'you, me') is an enchantment. It takes us, so it seems, into a story and we forget, so it seems, that in the end this story is just This.
This is the Great Holy Stuff. Why great and holy? Great because it is everything, greater than that you can't. Why holy? Boy are you kidding me? What imense ass-kicking power can This be so that you can sit on your chair and make the sharp-cutting statement that there is something at all existing?
There is something.
There is something.
Can there be nothing? How could there be a 'nothing'? Where would that nothing stand on? See where i'm getting at?
No my devotion is not to bend forward. My devotion is to see the bending or whatever silly movement is not mine, that the very idea of being a 'me' is an enchantment. It's beautiful.
See what you see. Be what you are. It's all too so precious.
It goes. It is the going. It never comes back. Seizing it in the now is the art of life. The sole purpose of there being something at all.
Imagine death. It means not death to This.
It means death to the 'you'. Don't be scared, you are not the 'you' you know. That one is just an idea. A cloud. You are the sky wherein the cloud takes place. The cloud we'll surely miss. This is also the beauty of this.
Attachment.
Attachment is soo beautiful.
It is love because we genuinely know, actually we know only this: that things are transient. And we are scared to lose them, to lose everything.
We are like some kid in a toy shop who wants all toys but can't even hold more than what fits in his arms. You need to let go of one to get another.
The art of life is like something i am sure exists but i can't point at. Some job or something where you have to do something but not too much. Please come up with an example?
Not now ok.
Anyway, the devotion: there is just The Great Holy Stuff. Just this.
Watch the letters of words, see words are letters, possibly ink.
Watch the movie and see it's just a screen, possibly pixels.
Watch things and see it's just life, and possibly just being.
Maya
This world is an enchantment--this is not to say that nothing is real about it.
Stories in books are made of words and words made of letters. Yet, as we read, we are drawn into these beautiful, violent or romantic stories and we forget the words they are made of.
In the same way we are drawn into the world's stories and even when those are violent or passionate or stories of suffering, in reality the world is peaceful and calm.
It is hard not to be drawn into the enchantment, it is hard not to identify with this or that.
Hard but not impossible.
Stories in books are made of words and words made of letters. Yet, as we read, we are drawn into these beautiful, violent or romantic stories and we forget the words they are made of.
In the same way we are drawn into the world's stories and even when those are violent or passionate or stories of suffering, in reality the world is peaceful and calm.
It is hard not to be drawn into the enchantment, it is hard not to identify with this or that.
Hard but not impossible.
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