The dictionary defines Nirvana as: ‘(in Buddhism) perfect bliss attained by the extinction of individuality.’
And the following — which may reflect the above definition — may be one pristine part of the bible that managed to get through without being adulterated much over time by those with mythological propensities:
35 For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ 37 Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? 38 And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? 39 And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ 40 And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers,[a] you did it to me.’
When we consider things mentally we are living in the past. Merely living in the past, in all actuality, is not truly living. Past structures past recognitions, past images and patterns are restructured and re-manipulated. This re-manipulation may seem new, but if the components of it are of images and memories of the past — which they usually are — then what seems somewhat fresh is, for the most part, merely a restructuring of the same old stuff.
In psychoanalysis, looking into the past to get at the source of one’s fears usually isn’t treading new waters whatsoever. It also is a continuation of the past. This past is never truly liberating, for it is an extension of the remains of the stale, the old, and the accumulated. Bringing up old accumulations doesn’t — in any profound way — produce anything liberating and fresh for the mind. The mind that probes into its past is that past; and what it perceives with is dictated by (and actually is) the very past that it is desiring to look into. In actuality, it is very much like a dog chasing its own tail.
Instead of trying to find out about the source of the fears that one thinks one has, it may be much more prudent to perceive that one is not psychologically separate from what fear is as it occurs. Being in right relationship with fear doesn’t take time. Probing into one’s past and psychoanalysis take time. Time is not profoundly liberating in this… because like a dog that chases its own tail, it is a waste of energy. Looking at the past with the past is, for the most part, often a waste of time.
Trying to analyse fears takes time. Trying to control fear takes time. (And trying to control fear presupposes a segment of the mind that is separate from fear and that is capable of manipulating it.) Trying to suppress fear takes time. Escaping from fear, though various forms of entertainment, for example, takes time. Being in an intelligent relationship with fear (as it occurs) does not take time; there is no separation (i.e., no conflict) in that intelligence.
Alien Spy Bot from the Planet Kepler-1606b … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2022
Lo Zu was sitting peacefully, adjacent to a beautiful, small creek with splendid, lush vegetation growing all around it. A towering, majestic mountain stood in the distance. Four inquisitive, very young students came by, and one of them said to Lo Zu, “Tell us something of wisdom; please tell us something that will amaze us.”
Lo Zu turned to them, smiling, and said, “Well, my friends, that’s a very tall order!” The youths all affectionately smiled at the aged Lo Zu and agreed. Lo Zu gazed at them and said (half to himself), “Let’s see… what can one say (or do) that would sufficiently satisfy such a tall order?” Then Lo Zu said, “How about if i get that mountain to move? Would that be sufficient?” “Oh, yes it would, indeed,” said one of the young students, “but it can’t be done.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so sure,” Lo Zu stated, grinning. Lo Zu continued on, “You see, in the mind, psychologically, it is such that the perceiver is (in a big way) the perceived. If the mind feels anger, it is the anger; if the mind feels joy, it is the joy; if the mind sees a tree (the patterns and the colors of that tree become what the mind is); if the moon is perceived, it’s image becomes what the mind is (psychologically). So the perceiver is (psychologically) the perceived. The two are as one.
“Yes,” the students said. Lo Zu went on, “So if one of you students looks at the mountain, and i move you… then in a big way, the mountain will move.” “Very interesting,” the students proclaimed.
Then Lo Zu said, “”There is a great book, stemming from a great and very wise man, that was written in a foreign land a short while back. It was a cornerstone book that was rejected by the authoritarian (so-called spiritual) bureaucrats in that land (who wanted to manipulate people and did not want them to be independent); they arranged for all of those who cherished that book to be executed. The book was called ‘The Gospel of Thomas.’ Here is one of the sayings from within that book: “When you make the two into one, you will become children of humanity, and when you say, ‘Mountain, move from here,’ it will move.””
In my last (recent) blog posting — just prior to this one — in the comments, Marlene thanked me and wisely mentioned how our conditioning causes us to forget (or fail to deeply see) the more realistic unity and wholeness (beyond the individual “I”). One answered back to her, responding that there are endless subtle ways that the isolating self tries to manifest… such that most of us, unfortunately, are hardly perceptive of it.
We are hardwired (by our crude society) to refer to the self habitually, automatically, without question. Going beyond the “I” is considered by many to be heading for insecurity, instability, and chaos. In reality, however, it may be that this limited (but deeply ingrained) notion of a central “I” (in each one of us) is what contributes greatly to the conflict, disorder, selfishness, instability, chaos, and lack of true harmony in the world.
And this constant, deeply ingrained referral to the “I” happens to so many of us, even to those of us who see the unintelligence of doing so. People will automatically, for example, say, “Well I’m working on my meditation or… I am trying to work on my mindfulness more.” So they still — either subtlety or grossly — are maintaining the “I” as a controller and power-source of regulation. Of course, our language itself is designed and structured to often refer to and depend upon the “I.” The “I” is a habitual obtrusion of thought (and it is not truly “in control” as we were programmed to think it is); it reinforces gross separation, selfishness, and (often) indifference. Truly transcending this takes one to a realm of real wholeness — beyond the limited image of “me” — a wholeness of real order, compassion, perception, and true harmony. (One can still, in communication, cautiously use the word “I” but nevertheless be acutely aware of its limiting, superficial aspect.)
The Millipede and its primitive Eye … Photo by Thomas Peace c. 2022
Tom's Nature-up-close Photography and Mindfulness Blog 