What do you need from me, little one? Just ask.
I hear you trying to warn and protect us. I am listening. What do you need?
You’ve done so much. I saw all of it.
That was never your responsibility. Not your job.
I was never gone and will be here for you, forever.
We can sit in non-judgmental peace for as long as you need. You are so welcome.
You are excellent; not as an expectation, as an observation.
You did not need to do that job; and you never need to do it again.
Feel the peace and quiet here — always here.
It does not need to be earned. You do not need to ask to be held; I am holding you now and will never let go.
For how long, little one? Forever. Forever.

My happiness used to flicker like a candle. Now it smoulders like an ember. I love it 🙂

You are so loved — without limit, without condition.
You are safe. We’ve got your back.
You don’t have to carry it all. We’re here to help.
I hear you trying to protect and warn us. I am listening.
You were never alone. We are with you, always.
You don’t have to brace for the worst anymore. We will meet the day together, gently.
I trust you. You can let go now.
I love you beyond measure. Go well, little one.

Endless.

The hardness of the so-called hard problem of consciousness lies in our unwillingness to give up the mythology of materialism. We have taken a powerful model of the world too seriously. That’s it! We have confused the map for the territory.

(more…)

In a famous koan, a novice monk approaches Master Zhaozhou.

Monk: “I have just entered the monastery, please give me some guidance.”
Master: “Have you eaten your rice gruel?”
Monk: “Yes”
Master: “Then wash your bowl”
This precipitated an awakening in the monk.

There are many things one can take away from this koan: the compassion of the master in asking whether the monk had eaten, that enlightenment is possible without the need for special experiences, the washing of one’s bowl as an analogy for letting go of attachments. Here we will focus on the simplicity of the command, “Then wash your bowl”

(more…)

If there is such a thing as“the fabric of reality”, perhaps it is so painfully obvious that we overlook it. Consider these criteria: it must be the same now as it always was, hence it is nothing new; it must be everywhere, hence microscopes and telescopes get us no closer; it must be inherent in everything, hence favouring certain things does not help; it must encompass both subject and object, hence apparent separateness must be dissolved.

Bare witnessing fits these criteria. The mere fact of experiencing. Just this.

Pascal famously said “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” On an individual level (and, after all, humanity is merely a collection of individuals), this can be regarded as both diagnosis and prescription. If you cannot sit quietly in a room alone, you have a problem. To resolve this problem, practice sitting quietly in a room alone.

Now, this does not mean all problems can be solved by sitting. Rather, the definition of a problem is something through which you cannot sit quietly. “For this, I must get up!” But truthfully, how many things that disturb the inherent peacefulness of just sitting need to be solved? How many empty problems do we construct to avoid sitting quietly in a room alone? Indeed, many would rather receive electric shocks than just think.

Cultivate a mind that is at home with itself and many “problems” will simply disappear.

There are no ultimate answers because there are no ultimate questions. The universe asks nothing. It does not speak. We speak and project the activities of questioning and answering onto reality. Since the universe does not speak, it has no answers. It is we who make answers out of what we encounter.

Sometimes so-called ultimate questions sound like they make sense, e.g. “What is the meaning of life?”, but the presupposes a singular, objective answer. Objects don’t speak, only subjects speak. Meaning is not something out there. It cannot be discovered, only constructed. It is a product of minds.

All answers are partial.

The last post suggested that confusion only happens at the relative level of mind. We place artificial distance between ourselves and the universe when we seek to know it. That distance vanishes when we rest as it. For complete clarity, we must give up mind.

One powerful practice to achieve this clarity is Tilopa’s Six Words of Advice: don’t recall, don’t think, don’t imagine, don’t examine, don’t control, rest.

Let go of mind. Rest as awareness. See what happens.
(Samaneri Jayasāra has a wonderful guided reading here)