After playing with rocks for an afternoon, I was truly content. I had fun. Rocks to me are treasures. I keep stacks of them in my yard, 3 and 4 feet high. I feel wealthy when I have piles of rocks.
I'm guessing that not everyone feels that way about rocks. As a matter of fact, I've heard some people curse them, as they seem to multiply in their yard, only to reach out for an ankle or a mower blade.
Perhaps this is the epitome of looking for the good in things. A rock is meaningless until a human gives it beauty or usefulness or distain.
This is a great opportunity to look at how I see the other rocks in my life. Do I look for the beauty and fun in all the aspects of my life? Is the detritus of my life mentally rejected and discarded as ugly and useless? Or can I find the beuaty of things and situations in a new context?
My rocks only acquire beauty and wealth in the presence of the context that I create for them. I can also accept the negative or positive context that someone else is only too happy to hand me.
My choice....
Peace
Larry
P.S. Leave a comment, follow me, make my day....
Showing posts with label conscious. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conscious. Show all posts
Monday, September 13, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Being Empty
At the conclusion of a Heart Circle, we have a moment to say something about our experience. I said, "I feel empty."
At the time, it was very hard for me to know what I meant by that. The words seemed so inadequate compared to the experience. In the years since, I have gotten a better grip on the logic, if not the actual experience.
We can go into a room that is completed devoid of furniture, and we can see the space that is in the room. You can measure it, if you like. You can see it, you can walk around and dance and reach to the ceiling.
When the room is crowded with furniture, or even people, it seems like we have no freedom to move around, to dance, to flow freely. There's no space.
Is that true?
Did the space go away? Was it replaced? Or is the space "occupied?"
I would say it is the latter. The space is there whether it is occupied or not. The space is always there. When we remove the furniture, the space is still there.
The metaphysical, emotional, and spiritual potential within our lives is always present. It is the "space" of our lives. I frequently will go out and buy some "furniture" to occupy my space; goals, plans, schedules, history, pain, judgments, identity.
As I place it in my "room," I become accustomed to it and think it is a fixture. I forget about the space that underlies it. I begin to believe that it is more important than the space.
I begin to believe it is permanent.
Emptying the room seems pretty dramatic. Just throw it all out in the hall, in the basement, for the garbage truck. A lofty goal.
What if I just remember the space? What if I remember the immutable forces of this life that do not rely on the furniture to support, or to decorate, to create a "mood?"
What if I can remember the space of love, peace, potential that underlies all the furniture that I have drug into the room?
What if I can dance in the space, regardless of history or identity?
Help me to remember...
At the time, it was very hard for me to know what I meant by that. The words seemed so inadequate compared to the experience. In the years since, I have gotten a better grip on the logic, if not the actual experience.
We can go into a room that is completed devoid of furniture, and we can see the space that is in the room. You can measure it, if you like. You can see it, you can walk around and dance and reach to the ceiling.
When the room is crowded with furniture, or even people, it seems like we have no freedom to move around, to dance, to flow freely. There's no space.
Is that true?
Did the space go away? Was it replaced? Or is the space "occupied?"
I would say it is the latter. The space is there whether it is occupied or not. The space is always there. When we remove the furniture, the space is still there.
The metaphysical, emotional, and spiritual potential within our lives is always present. It is the "space" of our lives. I frequently will go out and buy some "furniture" to occupy my space; goals, plans, schedules, history, pain, judgments, identity.
As I place it in my "room," I become accustomed to it and think it is a fixture. I forget about the space that underlies it. I begin to believe that it is more important than the space.
I begin to believe it is permanent.
Emptying the room seems pretty dramatic. Just throw it all out in the hall, in the basement, for the garbage truck. A lofty goal.
What if I just remember the space? What if I remember the immutable forces of this life that do not rely on the furniture to support, or to decorate, to create a "mood?"
What if I can remember the space of love, peace, potential that underlies all the furniture that I have drug into the room?
What if I can dance in the space, regardless of history or identity?
Help me to remember...
Monday, December 8, 2008
In reading The I of the Storm by Gary Simmons, I was able to absorb his conception of the harmony of being and doing. In my own vernacular, they feed each other. And there is choice in each of them. We decide what we are going to be; that from which we act out our lives. And we decide our actions.
The interesting thing about acting out our actions is the choice of acting from a consciousness of who we are at the core of our being, or acting out from fear based on past experience. All fear is based on our past experiences and the meanings we give them.
So as I was reading this, I just stopped and focused on being from the state of spirit, from a state of "not-doing" as Lao Tzu says. Yes, it seemed a little like meditation, bordering on sleeping, but there was an intensity of awareness that seemed to drive inward. When it was shattered by the phone ringing, that sudden withdrawal from a state of simple consciousness created a contrast to it that allowed a clear view of what it felt like at its deepest.
I am repeatedly affirmed by the number of occassions where it is acknowledged that the best connection that occurs among people is in a small size of 6-8 people. That seems to be the number that allows for a connection and authenticity for all the members. At that size, they foster a level of safety that encourages even the quietest member to speak up. Yet they are not so large that people get lost in the dynamics, and small enough that the dominant personality doesn't take the power of the room.
That's why the Small Group Book Study works so well for understanding the material and exploring the wisdom of the collective.
Peace & Love,
Larry Watson
The interesting thing about acting out our actions is the choice of acting from a consciousness of who we are at the core of our being, or acting out from fear based on past experience. All fear is based on our past experiences and the meanings we give them.
So as I was reading this, I just stopped and focused on being from the state of spirit, from a state of "not-doing" as Lao Tzu says. Yes, it seemed a little like meditation, bordering on sleeping, but there was an intensity of awareness that seemed to drive inward. When it was shattered by the phone ringing, that sudden withdrawal from a state of simple consciousness created a contrast to it that allowed a clear view of what it felt like at its deepest.
I am repeatedly affirmed by the number of occassions where it is acknowledged that the best connection that occurs among people is in a small size of 6-8 people. That seems to be the number that allows for a connection and authenticity for all the members. At that size, they foster a level of safety that encourages even the quietest member to speak up. Yet they are not so large that people get lost in the dynamics, and small enough that the dominant personality doesn't take the power of the room.
That's why the Small Group Book Study works so well for understanding the material and exploring the wisdom of the collective.
Peace & Love,
Larry Watson
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