Being’s Glorious Life

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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An Explanation of Reality

You may not be interested in these matters. You may be an atheist, a non-believer. You may have an aversion towards all things spiritual. It doesn’t matter. You will get it all the same, that the world, the universe, everything — including yourself — are not there. Nothing is really there. Not in the way you had imagined. This is not like everybody has been telling you. Not at all. And you will see it with your logic, with your scepticism — a golden value by the way —, with your Cartesian, rational, solid mind. I will explain. You just have to listen carefully. There is no world, and I will expose to you how it is so. I will demonstrate it to you.

You may think there are billions of other people, countless other versions of suffering, a multitude of experiences, a world teeming with crowds and achievements, and all manner of things, from the most sublime to the most appalling. And there are indeed multiple points of views. But all of the world’s sufferings will always ever be experienced as yourself. It will be for whoever you may be now, and be experienced in whatever experience you may be experiencing now. The whole world is always only a first person experience of the world — in whoever you happen to be at this moment. When another person experiences suffering, it will then be this person’s only reality, and so on. So you will always ever be yourself. There are no ways to be another than yourself, to have another experience that your own experience of being yourself — which you experience right now. So the totality of humanity is contained in that one subjective experience of being. It is all there — in being. The billions of subjectivities, the myriad of experiences, the unspeakable suffering, the expansion and the veiling, the gruesome and the awe, the glory and sacredness of truth, and the compelling ignorance. Every experience of every possible being in this world is in essence made of that one experience of pure, ethereal being. And suffering is when you don’t know that.

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An explanation on how the reality of everything is only being… (READ MORE…)

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God’s Blind Spot

Understand that there is something present now, that stands ready to record your experience. This something or presence is massively here. You cannot budge it no matter what. It is here the moment you are seeing anything, and the moment you are hearing what you are hearing. No matter what it is you are perceiving, that thing is here to allow you to do so. Should you be thinking, and your thinking is immediately known. Should you be feeling, and your feeling spreads itself in the very thing that is knowing it. Your body is under its scrutiny, through its being aware of a sky of sensations. It will follow you no matter where you go, and yet you cannot make it go anywhere. You cannot hide anything from this observing eye — he’d be the one hiding it. This thing has no shadows. It is bright day and night. And should you undertake an inquiry about that sun, she’d be the one conducting it. In short, the whole of life is being played within something without which there would be no life to be experienced. It is conditioning everything to itself without itself being conditioned by anything. But the most extraordinary of all is that we manage to miss it, to not notice it, and finally conceal it. Which means that this presence is itself the one concealing itself. And that bit of shadow that is left behind is who we think we are! We therefore only exist in a vacuum. The self that we believe ourself to be is the only thing that can neither experience nor be experienced. It is not in the picture. Nowhere to be found. Evaporated! Just an invention. The unreal cannot in a thousand years be experienced by the real. So the real is left completely alone. One with itself. And we are that: An ocean of knowing that knows nothing of the wee self we pretend to be. It only knows our having never, ever been here. In other words, we are God’s only blind spot.

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Text and photo by Alain Joly

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Turner’s Moon

‘Moonlight, A Study at Millbank’ – J.M.W. Turner, 1797 – WikiArt

This text is directly inspired by an analogy used by the teacher of non-duality Rupert Spira. I found it to have such evocative power that words started to pour out and I couldn’t stop them. This text is therefore dedicated to Rupert and his timeless vision and teaching.

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Sometime a painting just comes timely to move your heart. It is a gorgeous landscape painting, depicting a coastline and the sea, with boats and fishermen in the moonlight. At Millbank, Turner was painting in dark, subtle hues of black, blue, and purple browns, to define a night, leaving here and there traces of light, golden reflections on the water. In the wide expanse of the sky, he had left one portion of the painting untouched. Pure as white. Undarkened. For the painter had a view in mind. He was to paint a moon, bright and resplendent. And no moon was ever so bright.

This part of the scenery that wasn’t painted, it was you. You, before you were made a person, before the identification with thoughts, feelings, body, story, hurts, memories, projections, beliefs. The nature of the moon was that part of you that was left unseen, unexplored, but that had quietly illuminated you all along, giving you a self and an identity without your knowing, lending you a hidden strength for your bruised self, and bathing you in its unheard silence. It was the trusted one, the one reliable thing in a life of relentless changes and challenges. It was the peace of your true self, the precious being that had been covered up by the night of objective experience. This is the moon Turner had meant to convey.

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Tainted Self

Sometime, presence is eluding you. It hides, and you are left with nothing but your old tainted self. These are the sad days. When thoughts have invaded your being and replaced it with ideas and concepts about your self. When feelings have plagued that gorgeous presence which is you, and have contaminated it with worries and rage. When you are caught and find yourself being something and someone, some kind of hard entity that you cannot forget and shake off yourself. That’s when your beautiful, empty being is tiptoeing where it never left and waiting for better days. That’s when you cannot help yourself seeing a world in front of you. That’s when objects have filled your world and animate it with all the inbuilt suffering they imply. Oneness has been choked by them, and has retreated. It won’t fight its way back. It won’t raise a finger for itself. After all, does the sun need to fight for its own light? Is the sun the least bothered when a layer of clouds has formed? No. The sun will continue doing what a sun does. It will illuminate the clouds, sculpting their gorgeous forms, painting them in all shades of whites. The sun illuminates as surely as awareness makes your thoughts and feelings knowable. That’s how you can judge yourself to be anything. An old, tainted, worrisome, raging, hard, stubborn self. That’s how you can know that. Because of your presence. Because of its knowing, illuminating talent. That’s it. That’s what you are. That obvious, inescapable luminosity that is the only thing in presence. The only you in presence. The only presence. And in no time will you then have a clear sky. With no clouds around. No tainted self. And worries blown up. Rage pacified. That’s when the thoughts about yourself are tiptoeing in the empty space where they have come to form themselves. That’s when your feelings are being chased by the wind of knowing, melted by the warm and pure air of being, where you are discovered to be no self. And that’s how you make the thousands objects of your world retreat into oneness. And you are left alone. Here. Now. Sweet and whole. A presence never tainted. Never eluded.

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Text and photo by Alain Joly

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Masters of Knowing

‘At the discretion of River’ – Shitao, 1656-1707 – WikiArt

It seems to me that, at some point, we have to cease worrying about our lives. There will always be something to worry about, to be concerned with, to hope, regret, project, expect, envy. This is an endless, futile road with no visible finish line. And it also seems to me that, at some point, we have to question our constant spiritual reading, listening, this position of being forever a stranger, one who needs to know, to gain his or her position as being. Not that there is no beauty in reading an expression of truth from a talented seer, or listening to a perfect line of reasoning that brings you to the open field of your eternal self. Not that there is no necessity of seeing oneself as a humble beginner in matters of truth. Not at all. But we must come to the simple realisation that we have it all exposed in front of us, in our everyday, every moment experience of being. We are innate specialists of being.

Any sincere and thorough looking at our simple sense of being, any visit to the temple of our presence, always at hand, always on the map of the now, always accessible, contains in itself treasures of learning and understanding. This is our place of abiding — this being. Our cherished home. Never at a distance. Not a painstaking enterprise. Not requiring the perfect set-up or circumstances, the right number of retreats, the sufficient amount of reading, or the many hours spent on the cushion — for being is always present, always on display, in no need of practice or effort whatsoever. Being has the naturalness of something that can never leave us. It is closer than our blood and breath. So we have to abide by its rules, and notice it rather than seek to attain it.

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The Impossibility of Knowing

‘All Pervading’ (detail) – George Frederick Watts, 1887 – WikiArt

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“Beat on that thick cloud of unknowing
with a sharp dart of longing love,
and do not give up, whatever happens
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~ The Cloud of Unknowing (Anonymous)

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Habit is a driving force in our lives, yet it doesn’t have good reviews: it is an object of critics. It is making us dull and repetitive. It is non-creative, indolent, designed for our self-protective needs. It is born out of fear, uncertainty. It is a shield for what we feel bullies and thwarts us, and is thereby blocking our sensitivity and vulnerability. Habit debases love. But habit is not the real culprit in this affair: it is a victim of the one more fundamental habit of knowing.

Humanity is steeped in apparent knowing. We all have a posture of knowing. To know is the great pretension. Games are invented to praise and reward the people who know. The injunction to know is overwhelming. It is the believed road to success and wealth. Not knowing is a humiliation. We could take pride in knowing anything, in being ignorant, in the most ridiculous things, only to save us from being suspected of not knowing. For knowledge is believed to be gold. But although conceptual knowledge is indeed of great value in our society, the posture of knowing is nevertheless the greatest impediment to seeing who we truly are, and how to live our lives free and happy.

We don’t speak here of knowledge in the sense of conceptual or relative knowledge. Most of the knowledge necessary for our body and mind to function in the world is valid and necessary, of course open to mistakes and misinterpretations, but is not what we are discussing here. We are investigating fundamental knowledge, or knowledge as essence, the primal act of being.

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An essay on the articulation between knowing and not knowing… (READ MORE…)

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