A Critical Mind and An Embracing Heart

Human beings and happiness seem to have a love-hate relationship with one another.  Seldom do the conditions of our happiness sustain, and we often find ourselves busy trying to create or discover the elusive state of being which paints our life in a vibrant flow of uplifting color.  Some days, the sun rays hit the canvas of our reality just perfectly, illuminating life and creating wonderful sensations of warmth and comfort.  Other days, the sun disappears, as a shadow of doubt is cast over the bright possibilities that exist beneath the clouds.  On rainy days, we stay indoors, protecting ourselves from the storm in the confines of our dwellings.

As we notice the contrast in life, we compare the perceived value between what we have experienced in the past with what we are experiencing in the present along with what we imagine can be experienced in the future.  According to this perception, we decide what we like and do not like, consequently determining what we want and do not want, directing our efforts to seek the former and avoid the latter.  Since our experiences tend to accumulate, so do our desires and aversions, and as the conditions for our happiness become more narrow, so does our happiness.  This is what seems to create the human dilemma of joy and suffering, the roots of which are planted in seeds of thought and attitude.

When our happiness becomes more limited and scarce, we evaluate its worth differently.  We begin to believe that it can only be attained and experienced under particular circumstances, and we desperately work to be able to afford it.  Sometimes, we simply cannot afford happiness as it no longer exists within the confines of our dwellings.  This is when the sage decides to stand in the storm, smile at the clouds, sing in the rain, and realize true happiness.  
 

             

From The End to The Beginning

I've found a place in my soul that is empty, pure, and infinitely spacious. 

It is the simplest of simple and the most complicated of complexity.

I try to describe it so that it can be known, and so I visit ends of a circular spectrum to paint my analogy.

There is no analogy.  There is only being.  There is no likeness.  There only is.

Patience, compassion, presence... embody this place. 

It is quiet and full of sound.  Still, and full of movement.

Empty and full of Life.

I can dive as deep as I want.
I can lose myself to find myself.
I can never hit the bottom, for surface and depth meet each other forever.  

Becoming Death

When we feel the urge to suppress our most powerful desires, we must question the urge.
When we feel guilt for using our imagination to create life, we must question the guilt.
When our thoughts are tied to judgment, we must cut the ties.
When we convince ourselves that our limitations are real, we must cut the lies.

When morality turns into a headache, we must trust our intuition.
When approval from others is needed to justify our beliefs, we must approve of ourselves.
When blame becomes our solution, we must assume responsibility.
When we begin to think in circles, we must use our creativity.

When we stray from our true nature, we must move our minds into our bodies.
When doubt and confusion cloud our vision, we must wait patiently for the storm to pass.
When we hold onto reflections of our past, we simply project them into our future.
When we embrace our life experience, we simply release what we no longer have use for.

When later becomes something we desperately wait for, it is no longer patience.
When we must use faith in our reasoning, it is no longer science.
When we live without purpose, life becomes consumption fueled by scarcity.
When we are not afraid to die, life becomes.

Undefined

As I woke up this morning, I felt empty.  Emptiness felt good.  Empty space to be the breath that carries my body.  The spirit that brings life to the form that is me in this existence.  I floated to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, followed by a pleasant surprise of breakfast waiting for me in the kitchen.  My good friend took the day off to go see a movie with me - Inception.

Since I don't watch much, if any TV these days, I don't generally see commercials much or hear about movies, so I had no idea what Inception was about.  The friend I was seeing it with knows I am a very conceptual thinker, and had a hunch that I would enjoy the movie.

As I am still in a place of emptiness and open to absorb and release what my senses experience, I go into the movie theater and make myself comfortable for the feature.  The movie was filled with abstract concepts and dreams within dreams within dreams.  Subjectivity was the science, and consciousness only told half the story.  Insecurities were explored, unconscious walls broken down, and space made for creation.  The whole concept of the movie was to reach "inception", or to arrive at the beginning; and to return to the end.

When the matrix we are plugged into operates on a largely linear program (i.e. - the bottom of the blog I am typing now says "Draft saved at 12:54 AM"), measuring time as always moving forward and defining reality by law, the circular reality of consciousness seems to be rather... unbelievable (i.e. - it now says "Draft saved at 12:58 AM").  What if reality is not defined simply by law, but also by imagination?  What if reality is imagination?

When we left the movie theater, my friend immediately asked me, "what did you think of the movie?"  I didn't respond.  A few moments passed and I said "I'm still processing".  The truth is I wasn't still processing, but I just didn't want to talk about it.  I didn't want to take a concept that I largely related to and try to bring it down to Earth in this matrix using language to limit and reduce my experience.  I wanted to live in my dream within a dream within a dream.  My inception is undefined.

One and The Same

I live on one Earth.  One planet, with one sky, one sun, and one moon.  I have one brain, one heart, one body, and one soul.  Human beings are one species that share one consciousness, each with one unique life experience.  Each human life comes to form manifested through the union of two humans, each with their own unique reproductive systems.  Each of these two humans has their own unique thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.  These two humans attract one another and connect to create one relationship, one new life, one unique family.

And so, human life is one, divided, and reunited.  Continuously.  We are all the same, and different.  We all breath the same air, with different rhythms.  We all require nourishment, from different sources.  We all live, each with a different purpose.  We all think, each on a different wavelength.  We all dream, each with a different imagination.  We are all descendants of our ancestors, each with a different genetic code.  We all have a sense of time, each with a different perspective.  We are all related.  Our experience is all relative.

Self acceptance is acceptance of one; acceptance of all.  Our differences are no coincidence.  When we are divided within, we are divided without.  When we are united within, we are united without.  When we are everything to everyone, we are nothing to no one.  We are nothing.  When we seek approval, we require proof of ourselves.  I am proof enough.  I am.  One.  

Cosmic Flow

I float and I sink and I rise back to the surface.  I am a deep current.  I move to the rhythm of my heart.  My pace changes as I fall in love and lose myself in myself.  Nature guides my direction as I navigate through dimensions of possibilities.  Light touches the waves I create as it reflects off of me and multiples.  The flow of my movement is endless, contained only by solid boundaries that are worn down by my subtle liquid force.

I find space where it is available to me and never know where my mass might end up touching.  I have no beginning and no end, and all who immerse in any part of me, experience all of me.  I am absorbed and released.  I have continuous purpose.  When I am still, all matter that penetrates my surface creates a vibration through me.  I am clear and transparent.  I am a mirror for my observer.  I am peaceful.

When I am stagnant, my clarity becomes clouded and murky.   I am the dark shadow of my observer.  With no outlet for my reservoir, foreign organisms begin to occupy my being and dwell deep beneath my surface.  I become toxic to those who absorb me.  I am trapped by my boundaries, disconnected from the flow that is myself.  Disease strengthens within my weakness.  Life evaporates from my isolated mass.  

Thank You and Sorry

You are driving home on a Thursday from work, frantically weaving through traffic to make it to your best friend's birthday celebration on time.  Your mind is racing with thoughts of the school project you need to turn in tomorrow, weekend vacation plans, your commitment to exercising that you have failed to keep for two weeks, and the breakthrough you made with your therapist a couple of days ago regarding a childhood trauma.  You become distracted by the sweet GT-R on the lane to the right of you, and suddenly look up to find that traffic has halted to a sudden stop.  Your heart stops along with the car in front of you, your brakes hit the floor, wheels skidding out of control, witnessing your scattered thoughts slowing down narrowing in on the moment that is now.

As bumpers collide, airbags deploy, and your insurance premium skyrockets, you remain breathing, conscious, and alive.  Reaching to unlatch your seat belt, you notice the cuts on your hands from the shattered glass.  You manage to unlock the driver's side door and exit your car, breathing, conscious, and alive.  You look around and notice the damage done to the four surrounding vehicles, the scent of freshly burned rubber in the air.  The sound of a crying baby is coming from the car in front of you as you approach to check the condition of its passengers.  The passengers of the other cars involved are all conscious, breathing and alive, gathered around as you check the pulse of the driver.  She is unconscious, not breathing, and barely alive.

In a state of shock, you dial 911 and report the accident.  As the police and ambulance arrive at the scene, you realize you will be missing your best friend's birthday shindig.  The wave of events replay in your mind's eye repeatedly as you recollect information for the accident report.  The mother of a two year old boy is reported alive, in critical condition, as you watch the medical team perform tests and carry her away.  You have a moment of pause.  Everything around you keeps moving and you become still, removed, detached.  It is as if you have activated invisible mode and disappeared from reality while your body remains present.  A cloud hangs over your head.  You feel the weight of your actions.  Wishing your mind was a time machine, you escape into timelessness, a space devoid of time.

The next morning, you call your friend and tell them you are sorry for missing their birthday.  You explain why you didn't make it.  They forgive you upon finding out.  Later that day, you visit the young mother in the hospital and express how deeply sorry you are.  You speak to your manager at work and explain that you will need some time off to attend to legal matters, and express how thankful you are for his understanding.  The next few weeks and months will be challenging at best.

As time passes, the lady from the accident recovers with minor brain damage, you return to work, and you have mild nightmares about the accident on some nights.  Life is different, slower.  Everyone involved in the accident has granted you forgiveness, except for you.  You wake up every morning remembering the moment that changed your life, and you feel as though nothing can change the guilt and remorse you experience.

Then, one day, as you are sitting down eating lunch at a local deli, a little girl walks down the aisle and trips with a cup of fruit juice that splashes all over your white dress shirt.  She appears to be around seven or eight years old.  She looks up at you and says, "Sorry, Mister."  You help her up and tell her "that's OK.  I know it was an accident."  You are both still conscious, breathing, and alive.

As you lay in bed later that night, your time machine returns you to the present.  Staring at the ceiling, you notice a faint voice that sounds like a child saying "I'm sorry".  You listen closely, and the voice becomes more clear.  It is the voice of a little boy you recognize vaguely.  You feel as though you knew him once.  His voice sounds more and more familiar.  You respond, "It's OK.  I forgive you."  You can see him now.  He looks right at you and says "thank you."  You reflect on the joys and sorrows in your life and say thank you and sorry for them all.  You are still conscious, breathing, and alive.