A Holy Formula

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Woman in the Wilderness’ – Alphonse Mucha, 1923 – Wikimedia

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“Consciousness is an internal relationship to the whole.”
~ David Bohm

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You cannot suffer when the world in which you live is discovered to be you. That’s mathematical. A formula that will work magic in your life. For you don’t live separated from everything else. You are not limited to your body, and the world is not something that is distinct from you, at a distance from you. You discover that the jump was made long ago, that you have been the totality already from the beginning of ages, eternally one with it, and that there never was an inch that separated you from the world you live in. That’s how you are complete, by knowing no separation, by entertaining no difference, and therefore having no preference. So you cannot be lacking anything, and suffering is always only the lacking of something, which is born of separation. So stay there, in your inseparable essence, in your world of completeness. Notice that this is what you are, or rather what there is, when you stop fantasising yourself being somebody. You never had an existence of your own. You are the flowering of something deeper. If you ignore or overlook this simple truth, well… then the trouble begins, all the travail of life, and the never ending seeking for fulfilment. This never was about you. Life is bigger, wider than that, and you are here only to honour that and to live by its gorgeous rules.

Then you enter into sacredness. You leave the limitations of being somebody — a projection, an idea that thought has sculpted over time — for a merging with infinity, with who you truly are. This is what sacredness is: an entering into your true self. A visiting of the truth of your being. The anointing of your self with its reality. This entering is a sanction from truth. It is the death of an old idea which you have entertained, for a ride into unknowing. It is a ceremony in which you are being elevated to a reality that you have been blind to. You are being sanctified, or made true. You were already that, already living as that reality, already tasting of that firmament, but were distracted. You were drawn to be something, insisted in being exclusively yourself, by yourself, so you have ignored it. You missed the chance to know yourself truly. You worked too hard to be what you are not. You lacked passivity. Not that you don’t have to do anything to come to this understanding. But rather, this understanding is nothing you do. It is here in you, as you, without your doing anything about it. It doesn’t need your participation, or rather it needs your non-participation, your staying away, your keeping quiet. Your abandonment. The hardest thing of all.

Then you enter into holiness. You taste of your true home, which happens to be the home of god. You are made holy, which means whole, uninjured, healthy. You realise where you are, what you are, the stone you are made of. You notice your true body — the consciousness of everything. You connect with a reality that could never be transgressed or violated. A reality which you could only fall in love with, for it is your beloved self, which you have lost sight of, and are now reunited with, consecrated in, and which you would never want to leave, or not live by. You are made of the same golden dust that the stars are made of. I don’t mean just your body, but what you are at the core, the essence of your self, what you happen to be when you say simply ’I am’. You are made into “an internal relationship to the whole”, as David Bohm expressed so beautifully. And you will struggle to see the world as a collection of different parts, or to see yourself as one such part amongst many others. The One will come to be your only experience. But you will be defeated again and again. You will come to feel a part again. You will be seduced to be somebody time and again. You will want to feel separated again, to win another last adventure or advantage for yourself. You know: your little devil wanting to be the likes of god. But keep going. Keep going. Until one day, it may dawn on you: you are no more.

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Text by Alain Joly

Quote by David Bohm (1917-1992)

Painting by Alphonse Mucha (1860-1939)

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Websites:
– David Bohm (Wikipedia)
– Alphonse Mucha (Wikipedia)

Suggestions:
– Other ‘Reveries’ from the blog…
– A page from the blog dedicated to David Bohm: ‘Insights into Wholeness’…

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A Light to Yourself

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘The Sun’ – Edvard Munch, 1911-16 – WikiArt

There will come a time when words will slow you down. When you will want to explore yourself on your own, without the help of a book or a teacher, free from explanation or guidance. You will want to follow your own trajectory, to be a grownup, and experience your beloved, impersonal, undivided self by yourself and through yourself. You will want, as Krishnamurti said, to “be a light to yourself“. You will find your own security there, in this light, at the source of your transparency, where you will find no division from where to be insecure. You will find your happiness bubbling from your infinite being, where no self can be located, and therefore no suffering. And you will be under the authority of your own being, that will show you the way, through a door eternally open and inviting. You will be on an eternal visit of yourself. And you will meditate, not to reach who you are, not to get there, but to rejoice in it, and give your whole attention to your beloved — though you already have her, have him, all day, on all occasions, near you, close, so very close to you. And you will feel her love as being so fully yours, that you will need no incentive, no set hours, to be being her own being. And you will see around you, and within you, so much beauty, that you will not have to look for it, other than by being with him, and within him. And you will be in need of no thought, of no TV show, to distract yourself from yourself, for how would you want to be distracted from being so wholly in love with the love of your life? So books will have become a bore to get you there, but you’d still read them as you read poetry. And a teacher will be of no use to you, but you’d still be eager for the company of a friend. And you’d go about your life with confidence, because you’re not alone to deal with it. Rather, your life will have become your being, and your being, your life. And at the same time, you will be alone, self-sufficient, in no need of anything, of anyone, to be fully yourself, to be happy. Therefore, you’d give yourself to all, to everything, you’d be a sharer of being, and a passionate lover of beings, and of things. Yes. That’s it. You’d be a light to yourself. A light to yourself.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Edvard Munch (1863-1944)

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Websites:
– Edvard Munch (Wikipedia)
– J. Krishnamurti

Suggestion:
Other ‘Ways of Being’ from the blog…

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The Nectar and the Mouse

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘A Mouse as a Monk’ – Shibata Zeshin – WikiArt

We ought to love our being. That’s what animals do. The ones “that cut the airy way”, and feel “an immense world of delight”, as the poet William Blake wrote. The ones that sit on the window sill, in a pool of light, with eyes clinched in full appreciation of it all. The ones in the meadows, chewing and ruminating away their abundance of presence. Animals have being as their intrinsic companion. They live there, in being, as being, that’s how they have their life in such perfect order. That’s how they are alert, awake, aware, and know patience, diligence, scrutiny, care. They draw their intelligence from their sweet, sublime being, and their fierceness too — their courage, their laws, and their absolute well-being. We humans haven’t been doing so well. We have deviated. We have taken it all so personally. Maybe there is some lesson here to learn. A little wisdom from our friends.

Should we be in any need of a little guru here, I think I dug up the best of all. I didn’t find Its Highness amongst the large and the spectacular, but in the teeming world of our cereal fields, hopping around in the vegetation, feeding on seeds and on nectars. The harvest mouse is a four grams precipitation of the highest wisdom, wrapped in a brown and reddish fur coat, and equipped with a highly prehensile tail for the climb to heavenly heights. This mouse performs a unique sadhana. At the ripest of time, it climbs the stem of a chosen flower, and cuddles itself up in the cup of its petals to have a feast of the most delicious pollen. It stays there, inebriated by the scent and taste of it all. And it so happens that it sweetly falls asleep there. That’s it. This is Its Highness’ special sermon for you. This practice will act on you as a metaphor of the most sacred spiritual endeavour, of the highest understanding. It is saying, or rather showing, that you have to fall asleep to your self, or to sleep your regular self off. To so cuddle in your being as to realise yourself as being only being. To so impregnate yourself with the perfume of being as to be made of its very fragrance. And to so crawl into its blossom and bliss as to be yourself consumed by them both, and revealed as the flower of being itself, as the blooming of happiness.

Its Highness, if it could talk, would say something like this: You have to so totally and one pointedly devote yourself to your being as to feel to be made of it, with devotion fading and appearing as only a residual part of your sense of being a separate self, a somebody other than pure, essential being. You have to love being only being, so that love is no more a bridge between yourself and being, but the very nature of being — of who you are. You will feel the world and experience to be the very scented petals of being. And the stem of your bodily existence will draw its unabated strength and pliability from the rich soil of your selfless self — from its inseparable essence. You will feel yourself to be like a furious, furry ball of being. And experience will appear to you as a sweet, loving cuddle with your own nature. And your life will be made into nothing but a swift disappearance into God’s eternal embrace. That’s how you happy-sleep and wake up to your own nectar of beingness. When you harvest it all. As a mouse simply does.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Shibata Zeshin (1807-1891)

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Websites:
– Shibata Zeshin (Wikipedia)
– William Blake (Wikipedia)

Suggestion:
– Other posts from ‘Eternity with a Smile’ in the blog…

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The Adventure of Thought

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Head with Flowers’ (part) – Odilon Redon, 1907 – WikiArt

Thoughts are a strange thing. For they seem to be both indelibly ours and strangers passing in our sky. We have an ambivalent relationship to them. Sometimes they are part of us like a lover can be, so intricately woven to our being that they seem to have been sculpted out of our very essence. On other occasions, we see them from afar, unwanted, a despicable thing that we judge unworthy — thieves that have come to set us on a wrong course, rendering us unrecognisable to ourself. We have a love-hate relationship to our thoughts. We love the ones we judge to be good and worship them, befriend them, glorify them, and hate the ones that come to upset us, the bad ones that we refuse to endorse, or have a responsibility for. The ones that we leave scared and alone, ready to multiply and threaten our very being. They are like the obeying soldiers of our wounded self, the dark agents of our fears and of our rancour.

Thoughts end up being prey to our likes and dislikes, treated like objects are, judged as being often disloyal, incompetent, insufficient. We seem to be separated from them, to have little to do with them. But thoughts have been supremely important to us. In a way, they have created us, through our identifying with them. They have formed the limits of our self as a separate entity. In fact, thoughts are thinking us. We are the prey to their conditioned making, and are at the mercy of their limited expression. So we are most of the time reduced to being ourself a thought, a thought thinking itself out, and believing that it is representing nothing less but what we are at the core. Yet we are truly far from the mark. Thoughts have deluded us, have drifted from their being a simple tool to stealing our very identity by faking the appearance of a self separated from its thoughts, when that self is in fact just a magnified, engrossed, elaborated thought that bears no resemblance to what we truly are. Thoughts thrive on confusion, they flourish and fatten on the prosperous soil of ignorance.

But try to go beyond thoughts, to pass them by, to ignore them as being unimportant and move on, deeper, towards the very centre of your self. Notice the sense of being that is here before them, and that hosts them in last analysis. Touch the silence behind thought. Embrace who you are before you associate with things. Go to the place where no identification is possible, where you are free from conceptualisation, where thoughts have become unrelated to yourself, lost entities that have no relationship whatsoever to your truest being. You will begin to disconnect thoughts from yourself, to render them innocuous, and stop looking to them for your security or identity. You will discover a way of living where thoughts are scarce and rarify. You will have no room for thoughts. You will have disencumbered yourself, and will stop being blind to what is. For you will notice that your being extends to all possible things, and all times and places. It is a presence so unified that thoughts are being gradually expelled from your deepest being by losing their unifying justification. They become redundant to your self. They become what they should never have ceased being: a wonderful tool at the service of unity, a practical thing that is but the expression of the one. You will have stripped them of their being an impostor. That’s how you stop being a thought. Because you don’t need one to be yourself.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Odilon Redon (1840-1916)

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Website:
– Odilon Redon (Wikipedia)

Suggestion:
– Other ‘Reveries’ from the blog…

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The Fall

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Storm Clouds Sunset’ – J.M.W. Turner, 1825 – WikiArt

What a strange thing to have believed that we are not enough just as we are. That we need to be something other than this very sweet being or presence that makes us whole in a superb manner. Well, there must have been a belief that got in the way, that separated us from this plain and natural contemplation of our self. We must have come across a division, must have lost the thread, fallen down somehow, sometime, from this inner, blatant clarity. Where did the fall take place? How did we come to lose that which makes our very being, and can therefore never be lost, unless we were to disappear into oblivion? Was it just a simple belief, a little thought that did that? That made us think that we had to start from scratch, from a position of being flawed, insufficient, and that we had to do it all ourself: to succeed or fail, achieve even our happiness or our miserableness? That there was no given in being ourself? That we were small, incompetent in just living contented and blessed?

In fact, we have spoiled the game. We started with the wrong move. We have introduced a defect, a grain of sand that jammed the whole machine. That is: we have made ‘I am’ into ‘I am this’, have blemished being by objectifying it, have introduced a new entity where there was no need for one. I suppose we just wanted to do well, to bring our own contribution, presupposing that something was lacking when all was already perfectly whole and harmonious. So the first thing now is to stay away, to not indulge in being anything, to stop characterising our self when it is already fully characterised by itself, full to the brim with its own being, in no capacity of being more or better than what it is. How would you embellish splendour? How would you add anything to the sublime? Try it and it is but a fall from heaven to hell, from the inherent happiness contained in being complete to the suffering induced by separation and lack. So stop thinking that you can bring anything to yourself. Leave your ambition to be perfected, arranged, aggrandised. Notice that the simple fact of being cannot be improved on. You will never do better than God. Leave your self as pristine as you found it when you first breathed into its transparency.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by J. M. W. Turner (1775-1851)

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Website:
– J. M. W. Turner (Wikipedia)

Suggestion:
Other ‘Ways of Being’ from the blog…

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A Gathering of Friends

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Meal of Holy Communion’ (Agape) – Unknown author, 2nd to 4th AD – Wikimedia

There’s been a gathering of friends lately. All gooey with being. It took place somewhere, in a place unknown, unlocated, kept somehow secret, where they all came to share wildly, and taste of a love supreme. You may want to know that place, to locate it, to find it as being somewhere where you can go and share some of that exquisiteness too. Well, now you have to think twice. For as the dictionary says, unlocated means ‘not surveyed or designated by marks, limits, or boundaries’. It is a place of no location. A place that has no geographical situation other than being here. A place that you cannot find within any noticeable limits but that englobes every known location. That place which you cannot find or reach, which has no known address, and which is kept secret behind the usual, well-trodden frontiers of your everyday experience, is yourself. Not your usual self, which you are well acquainted with. That one you have to be cautious of, or even warned against. No. Not that one. There is more to yourself. There is more than this located entity, with marks, limits, and boundaries. More than where your thoughts and beliefs have placed you in. There is a place in yourself that is not a place, that finds itself in no well-marked location, but that you could never not be in. Would you want to go there, that you would have to notice first that you are already in, already placed at the seat of honour, already warmed by its blazing hearth. This only is the heartfelt, spaceless, timeless location for all gatherings of friends. This is the land of your supreme heart, that you share with all living beings under the sky. There you have lived of all eternity without your knowing it. There you cannot go but only be. This is the event you are already signed in for, a retreat where you share the secret address of your deepest being with other fellow friends, and lit a bonfire of love. It may be a gathering of one or a hundred, in company of the wise or the ignorant, with the lighting of a sumptuous blaze or many a scattered sparkle or glitter, it doesn’t matter — there’s been a gathering of friends here and you as being were its gorgeous venue.

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Text by Alain Joly

Fresco of Agape by Unknown Author (2nd to 4th AD)
(from Greek chapel, Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome)

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Websites:
– Catacomb of Priscilla (Wikipedia)
– Agape (Wikipedia)

Suggestion:
– Other ‘Reveries’ from the blog…

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Being’s Glorious Life

Posted on by Alain Joly

There is no being inside you. Being is a presence that knows no inside and no outside, unless the inside is outside, and the outside inside. What a strange thing to have believed that there is a space inside us that could accommodate being. It would make ‘being’ just a wee sensation, maybe located in our chest, side by side with the pressure experienced at the moment of anxiety, or any other kind of sensation. We would have being like a thing that we possess in our body, a feeling that belongs to ‘me’, that would be one just for me, cherished as being me and only me, and to which I would attach all the things that I believe belong to me — like my qualities, my thoughts, my experiences and failures, and that sticky, stubborn feeling of suffering. And that’s how being gets lost: because of these many other grandiose feelings and sensations in ourself, that bring much excitement, when being is so discreet, so unassuming, doesn’t want to show off, and gets forgotten. Really—we think—there is not much to it.

But being has resources. For being is not only being. It is not just that I am. I also feel that, know that — that I am. Being has the capacity to know, to be aware. So it extends itself to all things. It has no frontiers, doesn’t like to be located, doesn’t fancy being imprisoned inside something, anything, be it a body. Being is adventurous. It likes to go for an outing, and experience its intimacy with all things that can be seen, touched, heard, and multiplied to constitute a world. So being creates the world by being aware of it. Being is the architect of everything, for without its patient knowing and nourishing, nothing would be in capacity to exist. I don’t like to say so, for you won’t fancy that, but you are superfluous to being — I mean you as your body, your thoughts, qualities, excitements, failures, sufferings, all the mountain you have accumulated, all that: just a small, secondary, inessential, barely noticeable expression of being. Being has stolen the show long ago, and you haven’t yet noticed it: That your body is just an interface between being and being. That what seems to be inside you is in fact just as much outside you. That what seems to be outside you is in fact just as much inside you. That your wee sense of being is all there is, and all that you are, of all infinity and of all eternity. That being’s glorious life is what love is, and where it lives. That being is one for all. And that there is no else or besides it.

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Text and photo by Alain Joly

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Suggestion:
Other ‘Ways of Being’ from the blog…

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