The Silent Prayer

Posted on by Alain Joly

‘Dawn in the Hills’ – Robert Julian Onderdonk, 1922 – WikiArt

We have been taught that we are only a part. A body with some private thoughts and feelings, an entity separate from everything that we can see, hear, touch outside the boundaries of our body-mind. We have been encouraged to believe in separation, in effort and suffering, in reward and punishment, in a happiness that is only a passing experience which we have to strive for, and in brief, elusive moments of peace. That is the way of our life. But in fact, no.

This is all in our mind, only one particular, rehearsed representation of reality. It is all one wrong path taken, a momentary belief. Life was never meant to be fragmented. It was never meant to be tiresome. Our true reality is one of wholeness, with nothing outside of it. There is nothing out there that is not the expression of our own self, that is not included in our saying ‘I’. We may think that our ‘I’ is just this little, private, separate corner of the vast field of life. But if we look with utmost attention, if we let go of everything that we have been taught to believe, we will notice that our ‘I’, our most common, everyday, every hour mention of ‘I’ refers in fact to the vast field of life with no corner inside it.

Our awareness of everything expands beyond everything that is the prisoner of our senses. There is nothing with a boundary in our saying ‘I’. ‘I’ is the infinite that has been brought for a while in a world of time and space, of within and without, of objects which our body-mind is only a part of. Don’t be deluded by appearances. Don’t have a simple belief running your life. See that there is, beyond the many appearances, beyond the body and the many thoughts, beyond our seemingly suffering life, a reality that knows no limitation of time and space, and that has found refuge here in our simply saying ‘I’, or ‘I Am’.

There is nothing small about ‘I’, nothing that it doesn’t include, no time or space that it doesn’t transcend, no corner that is in fact not the infinite, no moment that has not been dipped in the eternal. So keep in mind that every time we cook a meal, do some shopping, or go for a walk, we are in fact inviting the infinite with us. We are inviting meaning, and beauty, and the peace that goes with being whole. The ‘I’ that we are doesn’t have to be restricted to a body, to the limitations of thought, to our physicality. There is eternity in our daily life if we are willing to look.

‘I’ is the absolute which we have wrongly attributed to our little idea of a limited person. We have squeezed the unlimited inside a belief, mixed it with a few sensations, lost it within the world of our many experiences. We have expelled God outside something that exists only in our mind, pushed It beyond the boundaries of an apparent entity, when it is but our very eternally present reality, hidden behind a wrong attribution, and shared as the one essence for all.

‘I’ was never private. We have belittled it for the sake, or the service of our own fantasy. We have downgraded it to a mere body, and in doing so have invited division and suffering. Think about it the next time you are saying ‘I’. Don’t ever say it mindlessly. Watch to where it extends. See the vast field that it is. Have it constantly with you, as the One that is both your true self and the harbour of every possible appearance.

Make ‘I’ your silent prayer.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Robert Julian Onderdonk (1882-1922)

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Website:
– Robert Julian Onderdonk (Wikipedia)

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The Burning Ground

Posted on by Alain Joly

‘Fort George Island’ – Thomas Moran, 1880 – Wikimedia

There is no looking away from God. What we are, think, do, feel, experience, is already belonging to something that is prior. We don’t live inside one limited, time-bound reality and have to look for another grander reality for a form of relief, or resolution. We are already living in the reality that we are seeking, already tasting of the eternal life that we are longing for, already having the infinite as our most precious body. Our many thoughts are prayers, although they don’t seem to be. They are born out of desperation and have a mission. They are seekers, soldiers, working at a form of freedom and happiness, trying hard to go beyond their own limitations. They are clumsy, but they keep their gaze fixed on the eternal which they come from and which they desire to merge with again. We know our home though we have lost touch with it, and are seeking it back in every possible way. So look at what your thoughts are aiming at, the ground of being where they once were born and formed. Be and abide as that place of being, which is their playful ground. Be the motionless where they can live and thrive, and be relieved of their seeking.

Our actions are prostrations before the One. They are not born of an endless line of causation. That is only their superficial clothing. Our feet, and our doing are already treading the infinite that we are looking for, without our knowing it. This vastness without end or dimension is the stage for our many experiences. Everything we do, we do in the hope of retrieving our original essence. Our actions are either escapes from suffering and death, or attempts to reach a state of harmony or meaning. So look only in the direction toward which they prostrate themselves and at which they aim. Find that placeless place where they have the freedom to appear. Be what they are restlessly bowing before. Feel that we are their ground of being, where they come and are consumed one after the other into the One. We are but a burning ground, swallowing everything that comes and goes into the flame of motionless being. Our actions are already ashes, and we are the flame inside which they for an infinitesimal time live before disappearing. In fact, we have our whole life taking place and shape in a spark of eternity. Now see that what we are, think, do, feel, perceive, is better experienced from the position of that burning ground of being. There we acquire unity and meaning, and everything clothes itself in the peace which is our essential being.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Thomas Moran (1837-1926)

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Website:
– Thomas Moran (Wikipedia)

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‘Try to Die Here’

Posted on by Alain Joly

‘Mount Athos and the Monastery of Stavronikétes’ – Edward Lear, 1857 – Wikimedia

When the young Romanian Ioan Gutu arrived at Mount Athos to spend his life there as a monk, he was welcomed by his spiritual Father Elder Ilie with these few words: “Try to die here.” That’s what you do when you arrive at your true self, at your Mount Athos, you don’t form another thought about yourself, you stop looking for an identity, you don’t take refuge again in your mind, in your body. You leave all things, all identities, all beliefs behind. You stop reincarnating as a self separate from the world, for you have found that you were already fully, and wholly incarnated in being, in the selfless reality of your true nature.

In fact, the monastic life is only a metaphor for the truth of your living. You are required to spend your life and die there, because you cannot leave the reality of your own being. A monastery is a place where you reenact reality, where you know no separation, no ‘other’. You are alone, as the word ‘monk’ tells you in its etymology. It is where you know being to be the only place there is, no matter where you are, where you look. You lose your many pursuits and ambitions in being something, someone. You retire where you have never ceased to be, which is in yourself, in your nature, in the truth or reality of your infinite, undivided being. So this is the death that Ilie had in view for Ioan. “Try to die here”. Cease to be other than the One. Stay in your reality as it is, and spend your life there. Don’t leave who you are. Don’t go back to your life of separation, pursuits, hope, envy, comparison. This is prayer.

Wherever you are, try to die there. Don’t pursue your thoughts. Don’t go after anything. Don’t be enthralled by any object on the way. The way is what you are, where you are now, where you have already arrived. To die is to arrive where you are eternally, to stop believing in a destination. But this dying is a strange death. It is not the dying that you may have in mind, for there is no dying to your being. How would the One die? How would you die, if you have already ended all identification, every belief, thought, object, projection about yourself? What is left here that could die, when everything that you believed yourself to be, all your wrongdoings, have naturally, effortlessly ended? Could your essence, your deepest being die? Could that which is not a thing die? What is left here but the immortal, when everything mortal has been left behind?

Maybe there is another hidden twist in Ilie’s words. They could imply: ‘Try to die here if you can!’ You cannot. You cannot die in being, in presence. An appearance can die, but not that in which it appears. So, a monastery is where you can never die, never leave. It is where you leave behind all your many clothings of beliefs and identifications, all your wrongdoings — which is death. It is where you enter into the immortal and infinite nature of your true being — which is life. Everything else can die and follow its natural, mortal course except the One, of which the ‘everything’ is but a movement and a creation with a beginning and an end. So when you arrive at your Mount Athos, try to die here — in the One. When you enter, do your best to leave all your ‘mortals’ outside. Then find out that you can never die. John of the Cross said exactly the same thing upon ascending Mount Carmel:

“When thy mind dwells upon anything,
Thou art ceasing to cast thyself upon the All.”
~ John of the Cross (Ascent of Mount Carmel, I-13:12)

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Text by Alain Joly

Title quote by Schema-Hieromonk Ilie Vulpe (1851–1928)

Quote by John of the Cross (1542-1591)

Painting by Edward Lear (1812-1888)

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Websites:
– Mount Athos (Wikipedia)
– John of the Cross (Wikipedia)
– Edward Lear (Wikipedia)

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The Hand of God

Posted on by Alain Joly

‘Hand of God, stained glass – Dayton Saint Mary Catholic Church – Wikimedia

Isn’t it extraordinary that our whole life is spent in the present ? That no part of it, ever, happened somewhere, sometime, that was not the time or place of now ? We speak of the past or the future all the time, but in fact, we are prisoner of the now. We can never leave the present, which is in reality nothing but presence. It would be tempting to think that we are a body, somebody progressing in time through a succession of moments. But it is a naive way of thinking, for we can never find that moment — that ‘now’ — in time. It is elusive, doesn’t know a border, is reluctant to have a beginning and an end. The now has a smooth, timeless reality. It cannot move, cannot know place or time. The now is of the order of essence. It is a fundament. You can never go beyond it, or before it. It is you. You are not in the now — you ‘are’ the now. You are yourself where you live in. ‘I Am’ is the only time there is, which is no time at all. And you are not a prisoner, for there is an infinite amount of freedom in the absence of time, an infinite amount of space in the absence of place.

Time is for objects, not for you. If you think to be one such object, then you are in its claws. For your body has a beginning and an end, just like every object in existence. So choose who you are carefully. Don’t be tempted to be exclusively your body and mind, for time will affect you in the most vicious way. It will lie to you, telling you that you have an age and a limit, that you are as fragile as your body or mind can be, destined to wither and die. Time is a handy construct of thought that measures activity, movement, appearance, decay. But before the appearance of body, mind, world, is a space which is immovable, inalterable, inalienable. This space is not to be found outside yourself. It is your very essence, who you are at your deepest, when you have ceased giving your attention to what is only living and thriving at the surface, and are willing to dive in the most substantial essence of who you are.

So notice that where and when you live is only experienced now. This is no accident. See that the future is unattainable, except in the now. Understand that there was only a past as the experience of ‘now’. So now is the only reality — not time, not place, which are only appearances created by thought and sense perception. See through the many appearances of life, to land where and when you have always been — in your own inescapable presence here and now. The now is not a fleeting moment, it is massively here. It is stretching itself to infinite proportions, and renders time a ridiculous, though necessary passing notion. The now has the flavour of something new, for without the conditioning of the past and the expectation of the future, is a life that is fresh, embedded in unknowing — notice that you can only know the past or the future. The now is also something that stands right in the middle of yourself, that is at no distance, that knows no separation as past or future, whose immediacy is total for it is blended in and as your very essence. So comes a time when the now loses its time-related signification to expose its true nature as presence. The now is maintained right through as the very nature of everyone and everything. The now is how the infinite keeps you in its hand. It is the hand of God.

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Text by Alain Joly

Photo by Nheyob on Commons

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Website:
– Hand of God (Art) (Wikipedia)

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A Manual for Happiness

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Field of Poppies’ – Claude Monet, 1873 – WikiArt

We can’t get hold of happiness so easily. It is elusive, coming at odd times, sneaking in surreptitiously without our noticing. When we know it, it had already been there for a while, although we realise it only now — its quiet presence — a thing that seems to come from eternity, and that we could live with for ever. It doesn’t have the crude expression of a boastful, egoistic eruption of joy, or the bourgeois, replete manifestation of satisfaction. Happiness is more charming, something rare, valuable, that comes uninvited, on a propitious moment. By the way, this is the etymology of ‘happy’: ‘hap-‘, which means ‘lucky’, ‘good fortune’. Happiness seems to come by chance, ‘falling’ on us, as the Latin ‘cadere’ for ‘chance’ conveys. There is an exception though, in Welsh, where the word ‘happy’ had once the meaning of ‘wise’. Maybe after all, being happy is not a matter of chance. Maybe it better comes with some understanding and wisdom.

So what is this chance, or this bit of luck that comes propitiously for happiness to appear? Maybe our good fortune is simply in what is present now, shining beyond any shadow of doubt. Being happy is when we have the good fortune to let ‘what is’ be, occur, without any interference. Being happy is when we let ourself plainly be. This allowing may be the best manual for happiness. And this has nothing to do with a person or entity being happy. Happiness doesn’t belong to us personally. It is not in the obtention of something we desire, but rather thrives in times of desirelessness. Happiness is a detachment. It is a permission. It is a confrontation with truth, and therefore the abandonment or removal of our idea of being a person. There, in that removal of oneself, is the advent of truth or reality, and the blooming of happiness. Truth, having no perturbation in itself, no friction, no contradiction, no lie, or illusion, or pretence, is manifesting its pure joy of being just as it is. Happiness is a manifestation of truth. An indication of presence. The bubbles of being that come at the surface with a fizzing sound of well-being.

Happiness doesn’t happen to us. It is in the air, in the essence of everything, in what makes us intimately. It is indivisible from who we are when we have removed this block of beliefs, concepts, certainties and doubts, that constitutes our alleged self, with its regiment of hopes, regrets, and resistances. Happiness has no relationship whatsoever to our body and mind, but they will find a great relaxation in experiencing its echo. Thoughts will rarify accordingly. Of course there may be an appropriation of happiness by the so-called person we have convinced ourself to be. The mind recuperates it to its advantage. The self is using this timeless moment to boast itself up. It objectifies happiness and reduces it to being simply an emotion — the equal of fear, or anger. It reduces happiness down to a form of tension that consolidates its belief in being a person, a body-object that is the only subject of its life.

In contrast to happiness, suffering belongs to us, and so do fear, anger, hatred, which are all tensions coming from a misappropriation or misapprehension of life — a violation of truth. We are mistaking ourself for what we are not. We are resisting what is with what is not. And it generates all manners of conflict and discomfort. But if we don’t react; if we let ourself feel this pure, unattached inner being, and don’t leave it, don’t conceptualise it, don’t distance ourself from it for a refuge in the comfort of our body-mind. If we stay there, in the subtle identity of our most intimate self. If we rest still and in complete harmony with our purest sense of being. If we stay humble, and enjoy the delicacy contained in just being, for no reason other than simply being. If we enclose ourself within it, and let ourself be permeated by its most subtle essence. If we feel it to be our lifeblood, and let our old sense of self be seized, or snatched away by it. If we don’t resist in any way, including through our appropriation of happiness, which is a subtle form of resistance. Then… Then happiness is revealed as just the ease of being — what comes naturally when we connect to the truth of our deepest self. It is then what we could call, our good fortune.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Claude Monet (1840-1926)

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Website:
– Claude Monet (Wikipedia)

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The Joy of Heaven

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Rocky Bay with Figures’ – J. M. W. Turner, 1830 – WikiArt

There is a special joy in knowing who you are. And there is none like it. A joy that is here no matter what, quietly sitting in the background — you just have to see it. You just have to feel it, a presence which will never let you down. Actually it cannot. It stays with you wherever you go. There are no mistakes for it, nothing that you shouldn’t engage in. It doesn’t mind if you are sad, desperate, lost, furious. It is the best friend you ever had, for it can never leave you. Only it needs to grow, so you can notice it, engage with it, dance with the glory contained within it. You have to leave it the space it deserves, so that it can show you the extent of what you have in your heart. So you have to be still, a little quieter. You have to trust that there is behind everything that entangles you, everything that overwhelms you in experience, a space free from all that you believe yourself to be. A space that is yet your closest, most intimate, truthful self. It will show you that your nature is your friend, and that your identity contains all that you are longing for, which you discover impregnates your very soul and being.

There is a bliss in your being, an otherness in your being aware. Not the happy feeling that is only triggered with the experience that goes your way, with the desired object that you obtain, or with a matched expectation. There is a poignancy to this bliss, for it withstands every turbulence of experience. It is here for your noticing, if you stop identifying yourself with all that stirs and provokes. If you stop being something or someone, sometimes despising, sometimes enjoying your circumstances. You have to be disinterested, and stay with your naked being. You have to keep an eye on what is the deepest, unshakable part of yourself — that unmoved, steady ground. Feel that there is a bliss running behind every activity or experience you engage in. It is not a state of the mind. It is not for the person. You are not a person. You are that which is aware. So only settle for a verb. Make sure that you rejoice, that you delight in simply and only being. This is where bliss lives and thrives in all circumstances.

Bliss is a feline quietly lying in the background, watching over you. If you lose sight of it for a fascination for objects, it will doze off, turn its back on you. But give your whole attention to being solely being, and it will stare at you. You will hear its purr becoming louder and louder. You will feel the gentle breeze of bliss in whatever you do. Imperturbably accompanying every perturbation your body or mind might be the prey of. It is forgiving and compassionate. It is not quite of this world, not in the loud and the foreground. Not in the existing or the flimsy. It is the colour of the solid ground of being. This is why and how it is always here. It is essential, the very essence of what you are. You can snob it, veil it, forget it, but not altogether chase it off. So see yourself as a haven. Feel that you are big and welcoming, not a little thing tossed around. You are a heaven for yourself, the safe harbour for everything that takes place within it. You are a vault. This vault is the bliss of your own being. Some have called this bliss the joy of heaven, to separate it from the mere feeling of happiness that is of the world, dependent on circumstances. Bliss is at the source of what you are. Nothing is before it. It is the nature of everything. It can be seen everywhere, and you are the donor.

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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)

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Love Actually

Posted on by Alain Joly
‘Sarbatoarea primaverii’ – Arthur Verona – Wikimedia

Love is the essence of everything, and our very nature. Because we don’t live separate and afar. We are not distant from each other. Nothing is. We have a natural intimacy with everything and everyone. This is not a theory, or a philosophical argument that we posit. This intimacy is our deepest reality, what we are, the property of our natural being, which we can feel, see, experience, but whose evidence has disappeared from our eyes. The reason is, we have preferred a theory to the reality, an illusion to the truth. Our life has stopped being natural. We have been faking it, living it according to beliefs, habits, conformity. But here, blatant in and as our very being, is a reality in which there is no time or place, no distance or separation, no otherness. And as we all know from experience, love is the abolition of time, of distance. Love is the end of separation, of otherness.

Love, which we may call beauty, for everything that we love is beautiful. Love, which we may call understanding, for to see love as the essence of life is the ultimate form of understanding. Love is to ‘stand in the midst of’. It is to stand with everything that is under, everything that is existing in our reality. It is to be connected, to be together with, to be of the same essence. So love is an expression of oneness, of our nature as the one and only reality there is. In the absence of separation — which is truth — we find love. In the absence of otherness — which is our reality — we find intimacy. We make love every time we are aware of our reality as only being. We manufacture love when time is discovered to be an idea, and separation a belief. To be in love is to realise our nature as being one with everything and everyone. It is to be unable to part with anything. It is humility at work. It is where division is only possible in a figment of our imagination. It is to be with what is, with no pulsion of escape or resistance. Love is both in the ache of separation and in the desire to be reunited. All seeking is done in the name of love.

To love is to stand in the midst of, to see no separation between an ‘I’ and a ‘he’ or a ‘she or a ‘it’. The more we stand as the quality of being aware, as that which knows all things, the more we have love as our daily companion. It is extraordinary that we can feel to be a body and a mind, when there is before these, in the subjective, the vast and unmissable expanse of that which is aware of them, which we have pushed away as a mere function of that body-mind. The body is something that we are aware of. We are not in the body. We are in the ‘aware of’. This being aware is our home, where we live, where we have our life. This is our placeless place. That which we cannot not be in. That which we cannot part from — our most intimate, unchanging identity. To be that knowingly, to live as that, is to love naturally and unconditionally. Every time we notice that there is a reality, a consciousness, a knowing presence before our body, thoughts, feelings, experience, world, then love appears to be the very material we and the world are made of. The first and last brick of our house. Our everything.

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Text by Alain Joly

Painting by Arthur Verona (1868-1946)

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Website:
– Arthur Verona

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