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You (psychologically) are what you perceive

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One of the chief attributes of a truly sagacious mind is to look at things without the dichotomy between the “observer” and “the observed.”   The “observer” is not truly separate from “the observed”; you are not separate from what your perceptions are.

It is easy to crassly think that one is separate from the perceptions that one experiences.  Multitudes of crude, base organisms can easily think and perceive in such a manner.  The truly wise, however, acutely perceive beyond these primordial demarcations and boundaries.  The truly sacred does not ever pass through what is crooked and distorted; it only visits (and goes through) what is straight, non-separated, direct, and true.

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  from Walt Whitman:

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      THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH

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THERE was a child went forth every day;

And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;

And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of

the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,

And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red

clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,

And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the

mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf,

And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-

side,

And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there–and the

beautiful curious liquid,

And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads–all became part

of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of

him;

Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the

esculent roots of the garden,

And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms, and the fruit afterward,

and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;

And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the

tavern, whence he had lately risen,

And the school-mistress that pass’d on her way to the school,

And the friendly boys that pass’d–and the quarrelsome boys,

And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls–and the barefoot negro boy and

girl,

And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

His own parents,

He that had father’d him, and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb,

and birth’d him,

They gave this child more of themselves than that;

They gave him afterward every day–they became part of him.

The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;

The mother with mild words–clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor

falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;

The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;

The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,

The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture–the

yearning and swelling heart,

Affection that will not be gainsay’d–the sense of what is real–the

thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,

The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time–the curious

whether and how,

Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?

Men and women crowding fast in the streets–if they are not flashes

and specks, what are they?

The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the

windows,

Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves–the huge crossing at the

ferries,

The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset–the river

between,

Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of

white or brown, three miles off,

The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide–the little

boat slack-tow’d astern,

The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,

The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away

solitary by itself–the spread of purity it lies motionless in,

The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh

and shore mud;

These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now

goes, and will always go forth every day.

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(Left click on image to enlarge; hit left “return arrow” to return.)

__Four at the Clover Table (Thomas Peace 2013)_______

Four at the Clover Table... by Thomas Peace 2013

Four at the Clover Table… by Thomas Peace 2013

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eternalfountainofyouth.com 

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My Blog primarily consists of close-up nature photos (that I've taken locally) combined with original mindfulness sayings and/or poetry that deals with mindfulness/awareness. I love nature and I love understanding the whole (not merely the parts and the details). I'm a retired teacher of the multiply handicapped. I have a number of interesting hobbies, such as fossil collecting, sport-kite flying, 3D and 2D close-up photography, holography, and pets. Most of all, I am into holistic self-awareness, spontaneous insight, unconventional observation/direct perception, mindfulness, meditation, world peace, non-fragmentation, population control, vegetarianism, and green energy. To follow my unique Blog of "Nature Photos and Mindfulness Sayings" and for RSS feeds to my new posts, please access at: tom8pie.com (On my regular Blog posting pages, for additional information and to follow, simply click on the "tack icon" at the upper right corner... or, on my profile page, you can click on the "Thomas Peace" icon.) Stay mindful, understanding, and caring!...

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