OF YOUR ATTENTION WILL COME
WHEN YOU WILL START SEEING the truth..
Lead me from dreaming to waking. 
Lead me from opacity to clarity. Lead me from the complicated to the simple. Lead me from the obscure to the obvious. 
Lead me from intention to attention. Lead me from what I'm told I am to what I see I am. Lead me from confrontation to wide openness. Lead me to the place I never left, 
Where there is peace, and peace -from the Upanishads- 
Unless you know the emptiness and bliss inside yourself..you'll be a robot forced by the same emptiness and bliss trying to know itself..by pain..inside your self also..trust me!..said the mahayogi!*note*...from http://www.richardrose.org/ThreeBooks.pdf
PS..OR better this one..since sites go offline..but the kriptolocker is forever
https://web.archive.org/web/20081007005908/http://www.richardrose.org:80/atatoc.htm
Contents
Forward
- The Meeting
- The Invitation
- Benwood
- The Absolute
- The Path
- The Farm
- After the Absolute
- The Intensive
- Happiness
- Between-ness
- The Chautauquas
- Transmission
- Citizen Rose
- Success
- Entities
- The Krishnites
- Murder
- The Gun
- The Stagehand
- Isolation
- Seduction
- Nostalgia
- Fear
- Outcast
The Three Books of the Absolute by Richard Rose
Book I
Out of the valley of the river came a wanderer. Peace was in his eye and
his soul was wrapped in Nirvana. Peace to the wanderer.
O Eternal Essence, I was that Wanderer. I it was who left the gardens of
tranquility that I might labor for Truth.
I sought Thee, O Eternal Essence, in the grottoes and in the tabernacles. I
called out thy name to the stone ears of statues. And thou answered not.
I sought Thee in the voice of nature. I looked for Thee in the footprints of
animals, in the habits of birds. I listened for a revelation in the murmuring of
waters and in the soft moaning of the forests. I laid my ear against the roaring
cataracts and bared my head to the tempests. But Thou answered not.
I have sought Thee, O Eternal Essence, within my self. I have sought Thee
in my mind until I was cursed with confusion. And I saw Thee not.
Then, O Eternal Essence, I sought Thee whence I came. I sought Thee in
my womb. As the wild beast flees from the elements into his cavern where his
wild dam littered him, so I fled the darkness of my clay. And naught did I find
but the turbulence of my imagination. There in chaotic pattern did I find the
seeds of all confusion that pretended to be wisdom. Where man was born was
also born his gods. Where man was born was also born his demons. And where
in glorious pain, man first raised his foetal head, there too in ignominious joy
was he devoured.
My eyes are extinguished although I see the earth beneath me. And my
ears are destroyed and my mouth speaks no words for my feet carry me through
a realm that needs no language. And my mind is silent and humble in its
dismay, and all within that House there is not one thought. And within that
House is heard the painful tolling of a tiny silver bell, and within that dome is
felt the surge of mighty roaring tides that will not be stopped.
For the keeper of the House is gone, and all that remains testifies that he
never was. Exploding thunder shakes its walls, and heaven and hell are within
its region. For All is within that House, swelling it to burst its comprehension.
All joy is here, and all joy is pain, torturing the House that cannot contain it.
All of joy is tears, and the world will not contain the reaving sorrow of
this House. All this House is fire, straining to burst forth until these walls stand
no longer.
O lamentations of lamentations, has thy agony no tongue? O sorrower in
the spaces of desolation, who shall hear thy anguish, and unless it be heard, how
shall the pain be stopped?
I, O Eternal Essence, beseech Thee,--where within Thee have I dissolved
myself?
Where are prisoned those who follow love? Where have I left my I-ness,
and now having left it, who is it that cries out to Thee? Where is the dirge of
sorrow that is all that remains of me? Who feels this pain that burns and
consumes, yet is felt not by I-who-am-no-more? Who is it that looks from the
windows of my mansion like a strange prowler? Who is it that hears and hears
not, that yearns for life and lives not, that seeks out death and dies not....?
O Ever-Allness, what is Thy pleasure in my sorrow? Thou hast damned
me to thoughtlessness, and yet I cannot leave off thinking, and still my thoughts
are not words. Thou hast robbed me of my soul and mind, and my body
laments for all ages, for my body dies not nor yet walks among men. Thou hast
delivered me from my Ego, and what is there that remains? O Ever-Allness,
forever insensate, pitiless to entreaty, speechless to my prayers,--weep Thou
with me for I am of Thee....and all that remains of me is Thee.
What is the magnitude of Thy nothingness! O what are the limits of Thy
plentitude!....What is the thunder of Thy silence!....How quiet are Thy
cataclysms! Thus shall I sing the praises of myself.
Peace to the wanderer!
Book II
Who shall hear of Moses, Gotama, or Amenhotep, if hearing is not?
Although Jesus weep and Socrates drown, who shall hear their anguish if there is
not hearing?
Who shall know of love and godliness, of peace and serenity, if
knowledge is not?
Who shall not perish in the heavy seas of forgetfulness if knowledge is
not....Though his convulsions and agony for life be mountainous,--shall he not
perish....?
Though the worlds scream from their vertiginous orbits, how can they
cast themselves down while knowing is not....Though the stars roar in anguish at
their distances, who shall know of their roaring?
How can the atom know of the sea....How shall the atom know of the
universe....?
How shall the spaces know of their nothingness....How shall nothingness
hear the agony of nature that cries out against it....?
Where, where is where....? Why, why is why? Where O wise among wise,
is when....? In what drifting sandheaps are its footprints....in what continuum is
etched its lightning rate like music etched on ice?
Who, who is who....? Can the sage, more the fool, say that which is
being....and among beings, who are what? Is the spark an entity, or is it merely
part of the flame, and is the flame only illusory heat, or does it live?
Is not man a question asking questions, frustrated by the unanswered,
laboring to answer himself....and creating a mountain of questions in the
answer....yet who shall know?
Who shall know the circle that has no radius, and who shall know the
point that is a line of infinity....?
Where is maya....If all is maya, who, knowing, sees this illusion? Is not
his knowing also maya....?
In what pitiful hells are the wise....In what blackest abysses are the
oblivious ignorant....?
How shrill is the hunger of inertia,--how maddening the stupor of
extinction that comes from action?
O wise and foolish, look about you in your joys. Where are the joys of
yesterday....and being gone, did they ever live? Did you enjoy, or was it
another's lips that drained thy cup?
Hear the voice of shadows....Look about you into the invisible memories
of the ether. Where are they?
What matters it if the infant staves,--if the angel is raped,--or if the saint
burns upon the spit? Are they not gone....is not the sorrow gone? And who shall
remember....since knowing is not....who can hear their anguish?
Where are the beautiful....Where is their beauty washed by the
years....where are the years drowned in the ocean of the Unknowing?
Think ye on the folly of light. Does it not perish when the eyes are
closed? But the power over us by light is feared by man. He sleeps and dreams
of darkness, and wakens, screaming into it....
Relax ye and die and live the darkness, and enter the impassive pool of
the Unknowing....
Who shall extol the memory of man that leaves him often before his
life....Who remembers after life? If man forgets his infancy before his manhood is
upon him,--what shall he remember hence....shall he remember nothingness?
Desist and enter the pool of the Unknowing....
What is time, O mind....? Is it the number of steps in a day,--the number
of thoughts in a step....? Then of the thoughts in a day, how many years of days
would it take to know all that is know, and then how long,--to know the
magnitude of the Unknowing....and how many steps will take thee from here to
there? Who shall anoint thy limbs?
Though he who forgets more seems greater than he who strived not and
died in ignorance....who shall know....who shall know? Mourn ye for the hour
when the cloud of the Unknowing passes and the falseness of light dazzles the
eye. For the light is a liar unto the Light, and the light is the darkness of the
mind. Yet who shall know....?
I is dead. Death is dead and life has no living....All that remains is All.
I of the cloudier corpus is slain. It is slain that the "I" of the mind might
live.
"I" of the mind is slain, for the "I" of the spirit to live.
"I" of the spirit is slain that the spirit may come into its glory.
"I" of the spirit shrinks from the vanity of life. Space is upon it. Space
towers above it, silently mocking its absence, and the spirit takes its leave like a
thought....like the vapors and like the solitary sound that is heard not....
Eternity wanders through infinity like a blind minnow in an empty ocean
whose bounds are limitless....Yet who can see its boundlessness?
Eternity probes itself like a blind idiot for it know not its immensity, and
it roars and rages in its madness because it cannot find its edges. Yet who can
hear its roaring....?
And the candles of time are lit, and their wax congeals in cold
spheres....but they burn so long and dir so quickly that no man knows if they
burn.
Eternity convulses in its pralaya, seeking for definition.
Death agonizes silently for motion....And all that remains is All.
O who shall hear of this anguish, for all that remains is All.
Book III
O Dream of Dreams, tell me, where is the dreamer?
O Dream of Dreams of Dreams, tell me, where is the dreamer?
O Dreamer, speak unto me,--in which of these dreams wilt thou be found?
O Dreamer, speak unto me, art thou the dreamer in the Dream, or the
dreamer of the Dream?
O Dreamer, answer me,--if thou speakest unto thyself, and hear the sound
of thy voice and reply unto it,--are there then two people speaking, or is it but
one?
O Dreamer answer me,--how many people are dreaming thy dream?
O eternal spaces, art thou black or white....Is thy form clothed in light or
darkness?
Reply unto me
Who walketh in wakefulness,
Knowing not if wakefulness be but an illusion of wakefulness,
Or if sleep be the door of the Absolute....
Or if sleep be the dreamer awake....
Speak unto me
Not in the ringing of my ears
That know not if such stridency be the dawning of new perception,--
Or the damnation of all that was real.
O world, where are thou, that but a second past, clung to my feet?
Where in space am I caught?
O love, where are thy children,--the friends of my youth?
Who has frozen them in eternal ice until they stand in transient memory,
seeming as statues....?
Who has placed the halter of time upon their necks, to swing them in the
listless abysses of silence....?
O never-never-forever....why art Thou?
O tender I-ness forgive me....O lovable I-ness forgive me....for my hand
has shattered the mirror, and I can see thee not.
O hunger that begets creation, O wistful memory of myself, O transient Iness,
forgive me....for the probing finger has shattered the veil of illusion.
I have shattered the chimera of all Knowing....and all that I know is
naught.
Time did I seize in the fingers of my mind, and that which seemed to
move as a phantom did I hold in my fingers....
The peoples of the earth did I see, all that had lived or will live, and their
thoughts were upon their faces.
Beneath my feet did I seize space, and that which seemed afar was near,
and beneath my feet I suppressed the mountains....and yet did the cool oceans
rise harmlessly to my nostrils.
And in all this land there was not one sound, for my fingers held all time,
and in time are the fields of motion. So that no atom stirred, nor did one audible
wave afflict the ether.
For the blood of the serpent is coagulated, and in its mind all thoughts are
one.
And I saw the voices of men....and I saw the beautiful patterns of
motion....but the world was as still as death.
And I saw the beauty as it liveth....yet no color was upon the eye.
The rose upon the bush was only a pale weed, yet Red and Pink shook
the shimmering twilight with their loveliness....and the soft perfume of memory
tinted the Void with its essence.
I saw the flight of the swallow, rolling across dimension like a silent surf.
And as I looked, I saw the emerald dye of the deep, drawn from the
ocean's waves....and even the whiteness melted before the snow on the
mountaintop.
Plain was the picture. Plain was the picture for I had concentrated upon
color and motion....and now they were no more.
Strange was the land for I concentrated upon dimension until it waxed
and waned, and that which seemed small was as great as that which seemed
great.
The nightingale sang in the gloaming....but his beak is now silent....and
yet his song liveth forever.
O friend of my childhood, O lovable I-ness, what have I done to my
world? For I have turned my eye upon it and delivered it unto chaos!
And now I look upon the looker....Twice I see myself and then I see
myself no more.
I see myself as a suppressor of mountainous space and a conqueror if
time. Mighty are my sinews, as I stand upon the mountain.
Then I see myself as an infinitesimal man in the infinitude of
humanity....caught in the congealed blood of life.
I see this tiny man, happy, living, responding to illusions of color and
motion and dimension, and happy in his response, knowing not the illusion of
his indulgence in non-existent happiness.
And looking upon the tiny man, I see his joys leave him, for joy is a thing
apart.
And looking upon him I see his response leave him because motion is a
thing apart.
And seeing these things my heart burns with love for existence.
Yes, I on the mountain, conqueror of illusion, now weep for the beauty of
illusion.
And looking back into the panorama below, I, the mountained man,--I the
consciousness absolute, see that the tiny man now no longer liveth....for life is a
thing apart.
And since he no longer liveth, he cannot see me as I see him, nor can he
see himself as I see him, nor can he ever know of his joys that are things
apart....or know of his love which is now a thing apart.
And knowing his love and his longing for the pattern, I on the mountain
bewail and sorrow in his loss.
Great is my anguish in his silence, great is my agony in his loss.
And feeling my agony, I on the mountain, know that I am the tiny man in
the endless cavalcade.
And soon I see, looking ahead, that all my joys are not, that all my love is
not, that all my being is not.
And I see that all Knowing is not. And the eminent I-ness melts into the
embraces of oblivion.
It melts into the embraces of oblivion like a charmed lover, fighting the
spell and languishing into it.
And now I breathe Space and walk in Emptiness. My soul freezes in the
void and my thoughts melt into an indestructible blackness.
My consciousness struggles voiceless to articulate and it screams into the
abysses of itself. Yet there is no echo.
All that remains is All.
My spark of life falls through the canyons of the universe, and my soul
cannot weep for its loss....for lamentation and sorrow are things apart.
All that remains is All.
The universe passes like a fitful vision.
The darkness and the void are part of the Unknowing....
Death shall exist forever....
Nothingness is Everywhere….
Silence is forgotten....
All that remains is ALL.
*note* Richard Rose wrote this poem after his traumatic realization he's had,when he realized he didn't exist anymore than a Barbie Girl made of plastic exists...Book I
Out of the valley of the river came a wanderer. Peace was in his eye and
his soul was wrapped in Nirvana. Peace to the wanderer.
O Eternal Essence, I was that Wanderer. I it was who left the gardens of
tranquility that I might labor for Truth.
I sought Thee, O Eternal Essence, in the grottoes and in the tabernacles. I
called out thy name to the stone ears of statues. And thou answered not.
I sought Thee in the voice of nature. I looked for Thee in the footprints of
animals, in the habits of birds. I listened for a revelation in the murmuring of
waters and in the soft moaning of the forests. I laid my ear against the roaring
cataracts and bared my head to the tempests. But Thou answered not.
I have sought Thee, O Eternal Essence, within my self. I have sought Thee
in my mind until I was cursed with confusion. And I saw Thee not.
Then, O Eternal Essence, I sought Thee whence I came. I sought Thee in
my womb. As the wild beast flees from the elements into his cavern where his
wild dam littered him, so I fled the darkness of my clay. And naught did I find
but the turbulence of my imagination. There in chaotic pattern did I find the
seeds of all confusion that pretended to be wisdom. Where man was born was
also born his gods. Where man was born was also born his demons. And where
in glorious pain, man first raised his foetal head, there too in ignominious joy
was he devoured.
My eyes are extinguished although I see the earth beneath me. And my
ears are destroyed and my mouth speaks no words for my feet carry me through
a realm that needs no language. And my mind is silent and humble in its
dismay, and all within that House there is not one thought. And within that
House is heard the painful tolling of a tiny silver bell, and within that dome is
felt the surge of mighty roaring tides that will not be stopped.
For the keeper of the House is gone, and all that remains testifies that he
never was. Exploding thunder shakes its walls, and heaven and hell are within
its region. For All is within that House, swelling it to burst its comprehension.
All joy is here, and all joy is pain, torturing the House that cannot contain it.
All of joy is tears, and the world will not contain the reaving sorrow of
this House. All this House is fire, straining to burst forth until these walls stand
no longer.
O lamentations of lamentations, has thy agony no tongue? O sorrower in
the spaces of desolation, who shall hear thy anguish, and unless it be heard, how
shall the pain be stopped?
I, O Eternal Essence, beseech Thee,--where within Thee have I dissolved
myself?
Where are prisoned those who follow love? Where have I left my I-ness,
and now having left it, who is it that cries out to Thee? Where is the dirge of
sorrow that is all that remains of me? Who feels this pain that burns and
consumes, yet is felt not by I-who-am-no-more? Who is it that looks from the
windows of my mansion like a strange prowler? Who is it that hears and hears
not, that yearns for life and lives not, that seeks out death and dies not....?
O Ever-Allness, what is Thy pleasure in my sorrow? Thou hast damned
me to thoughtlessness, and yet I cannot leave off thinking, and still my thoughts
are not words. Thou hast robbed me of my soul and mind, and my body
laments for all ages, for my body dies not nor yet walks among men. Thou hast
delivered me from my Ego, and what is there that remains? O Ever-Allness,
forever insensate, pitiless to entreaty, speechless to my prayers,--weep Thou
with me for I am of Thee....and all that remains of me is Thee.
What is the magnitude of Thy nothingness! O what are the limits of Thy
plentitude!....What is the thunder of Thy silence!....How quiet are Thy
cataclysms! Thus shall I sing the praises of myself.
Peace to the wanderer!
Book II
Who shall hear of Moses, Gotama, or Amenhotep, if hearing is not?
Although Jesus weep and Socrates drown, who shall hear their anguish if there is
not hearing?
Who shall know of love and godliness, of peace and serenity, if
knowledge is not?
Who shall not perish in the heavy seas of forgetfulness if knowledge is
not....Though his convulsions and agony for life be mountainous,--shall he not
perish....?
Though the worlds scream from their vertiginous orbits, how can they
cast themselves down while knowing is not....Though the stars roar in anguish at
their distances, who shall know of their roaring?
How can the atom know of the sea....How shall the atom know of the
universe....?
How shall the spaces know of their nothingness....How shall nothingness
hear the agony of nature that cries out against it....?
Where, where is where....? Why, why is why? Where O wise among wise,
is when....? In what drifting sandheaps are its footprints....in what continuum is
etched its lightning rate like music etched on ice?
Who, who is who....? Can the sage, more the fool, say that which is
being....and among beings, who are what? Is the spark an entity, or is it merely
part of the flame, and is the flame only illusory heat, or does it live?
Is not man a question asking questions, frustrated by the unanswered,
laboring to answer himself....and creating a mountain of questions in the
answer....yet who shall know?
Who shall know the circle that has no radius, and who shall know the
point that is a line of infinity....?
Where is maya....If all is maya, who, knowing, sees this illusion? Is not
his knowing also maya....?
In what pitiful hells are the wise....In what blackest abysses are the
oblivious ignorant....?
How shrill is the hunger of inertia,--how maddening the stupor of
extinction that comes from action?
O wise and foolish, look about you in your joys. Where are the joys of
yesterday....and being gone, did they ever live? Did you enjoy, or was it
another's lips that drained thy cup?
Hear the voice of shadows....Look about you into the invisible memories
of the ether. Where are they?
What matters it if the infant staves,--if the angel is raped,--or if the saint
burns upon the spit? Are they not gone....is not the sorrow gone? And who shall
remember....since knowing is not....who can hear their anguish?
Where are the beautiful....Where is their beauty washed by the
years....where are the years drowned in the ocean of the Unknowing?
Think ye on the folly of light. Does it not perish when the eyes are
closed? But the power over us by light is feared by man. He sleeps and dreams
of darkness, and wakens, screaming into it....
Relax ye and die and live the darkness, and enter the impassive pool of
the Unknowing....
Who shall extol the memory of man that leaves him often before his
life....Who remembers after life? If man forgets his infancy before his manhood is
upon him,--what shall he remember hence....shall he remember nothingness?
Desist and enter the pool of the Unknowing....
What is time, O mind....? Is it the number of steps in a day,--the number
of thoughts in a step....? Then of the thoughts in a day, how many years of days
would it take to know all that is know, and then how long,--to know the
magnitude of the Unknowing....and how many steps will take thee from here to
there? Who shall anoint thy limbs?
Though he who forgets more seems greater than he who strived not and
died in ignorance....who shall know....who shall know? Mourn ye for the hour
when the cloud of the Unknowing passes and the falseness of light dazzles the
eye. For the light is a liar unto the Light, and the light is the darkness of the
mind. Yet who shall know....?
I is dead. Death is dead and life has no living....All that remains is All.
I of the cloudier corpus is slain. It is slain that the "I" of the mind might
live.
"I" of the mind is slain, for the "I" of the spirit to live.
"I" of the spirit is slain that the spirit may come into its glory.
"I" of the spirit shrinks from the vanity of life. Space is upon it. Space
towers above it, silently mocking its absence, and the spirit takes its leave like a
thought....like the vapors and like the solitary sound that is heard not....
Eternity wanders through infinity like a blind minnow in an empty ocean
whose bounds are limitless....Yet who can see its boundlessness?
Eternity probes itself like a blind idiot for it know not its immensity, and
it roars and rages in its madness because it cannot find its edges. Yet who can
hear its roaring....?
And the candles of time are lit, and their wax congeals in cold
spheres....but they burn so long and dir so quickly that no man knows if they
burn.
Eternity convulses in its pralaya, seeking for definition.
Death agonizes silently for motion....And all that remains is All.
O who shall hear of this anguish, for all that remains is All.
Book III
O Dream of Dreams, tell me, where is the dreamer?
O Dream of Dreams of Dreams, tell me, where is the dreamer?
O Dreamer, speak unto me,--in which of these dreams wilt thou be found?
O Dreamer, speak unto me, art thou the dreamer in the Dream, or the
dreamer of the Dream?
O Dreamer, answer me,--if thou speakest unto thyself, and hear the sound
of thy voice and reply unto it,--are there then two people speaking, or is it but
one?
O Dreamer answer me,--how many people are dreaming thy dream?
O eternal spaces, art thou black or white....Is thy form clothed in light or
darkness?
Reply unto me
Who walketh in wakefulness,
Knowing not if wakefulness be but an illusion of wakefulness,
Or if sleep be the door of the Absolute....
Or if sleep be the dreamer awake....
Speak unto me
Not in the ringing of my ears
That know not if such stridency be the dawning of new perception,--
Or the damnation of all that was real.
O world, where are thou, that but a second past, clung to my feet?
Where in space am I caught?
O love, where are thy children,--the friends of my youth?
Who has frozen them in eternal ice until they stand in transient memory,
seeming as statues....?
Who has placed the halter of time upon their necks, to swing them in the
listless abysses of silence....?
O never-never-forever....why art Thou?
O tender I-ness forgive me....O lovable I-ness forgive me....for my hand
has shattered the mirror, and I can see thee not.
O hunger that begets creation, O wistful memory of myself, O transient Iness,
forgive me....for the probing finger has shattered the veil of illusion.
I have shattered the chimera of all Knowing....and all that I know is
naught.
Time did I seize in the fingers of my mind, and that which seemed to
move as a phantom did I hold in my fingers....
The peoples of the earth did I see, all that had lived or will live, and their
thoughts were upon their faces.
Beneath my feet did I seize space, and that which seemed afar was near,
and beneath my feet I suppressed the mountains....and yet did the cool oceans
rise harmlessly to my nostrils.
And in all this land there was not one sound, for my fingers held all time,
and in time are the fields of motion. So that no atom stirred, nor did one audible
wave afflict the ether.
For the blood of the serpent is coagulated, and in its mind all thoughts are
one.
And I saw the voices of men....and I saw the beautiful patterns of
motion....but the world was as still as death.
And I saw the beauty as it liveth....yet no color was upon the eye.
The rose upon the bush was only a pale weed, yet Red and Pink shook
the shimmering twilight with their loveliness....and the soft perfume of memory
tinted the Void with its essence.
I saw the flight of the swallow, rolling across dimension like a silent surf.
And as I looked, I saw the emerald dye of the deep, drawn from the
ocean's waves....and even the whiteness melted before the snow on the
mountaintop.
Plain was the picture. Plain was the picture for I had concentrated upon
color and motion....and now they were no more.
Strange was the land for I concentrated upon dimension until it waxed
and waned, and that which seemed small was as great as that which seemed
great.
The nightingale sang in the gloaming....but his beak is now silent....and
yet his song liveth forever.
O friend of my childhood, O lovable I-ness, what have I done to my
world? For I have turned my eye upon it and delivered it unto chaos!
And now I look upon the looker....Twice I see myself and then I see
myself no more.
I see myself as a suppressor of mountainous space and a conqueror if
time. Mighty are my sinews, as I stand upon the mountain.
Then I see myself as an infinitesimal man in the infinitude of
humanity....caught in the congealed blood of life.
I see this tiny man, happy, living, responding to illusions of color and
motion and dimension, and happy in his response, knowing not the illusion of
his indulgence in non-existent happiness.
And looking upon the tiny man, I see his joys leave him, for joy is a thing
apart.
And looking upon him I see his response leave him because motion is a
thing apart.
And seeing these things my heart burns with love for existence.
Yes, I on the mountain, conqueror of illusion, now weep for the beauty of
illusion.
And looking back into the panorama below, I, the mountained man,--I the
consciousness absolute, see that the tiny man now no longer liveth....for life is a
thing apart.
And since he no longer liveth, he cannot see me as I see him, nor can he
see himself as I see him, nor can he ever know of his joys that are things
apart....or know of his love which is now a thing apart.
And knowing his love and his longing for the pattern, I on the mountain
bewail and sorrow in his loss.
Great is my anguish in his silence, great is my agony in his loss.
And feeling my agony, I on the mountain, know that I am the tiny man in
the endless cavalcade.
And soon I see, looking ahead, that all my joys are not, that all my love is
not, that all my being is not.
And I see that all Knowing is not. And the eminent I-ness melts into the
embraces of oblivion.
It melts into the embraces of oblivion like a charmed lover, fighting the
spell and languishing into it.
And now I breathe Space and walk in Emptiness. My soul freezes in the
void and my thoughts melt into an indestructible blackness.
My consciousness struggles voiceless to articulate and it screams into the
abysses of itself. Yet there is no echo.
All that remains is All.
My spark of life falls through the canyons of the universe, and my soul
cannot weep for its loss....for lamentation and sorrow are things apart.
All that remains is All.
The universe passes like a fitful vision.
The darkness and the void are part of the Unknowing....
Death shall exist forever....
Nothingness is Everywhere….
Silence is forgotten....
All that remains is ALL.
His first idea after he's seen the truth was to kill himself again..I say AGAIN because of his former tries to kill himself in his youth...but then again,if you think dying is the solution,you are greatly in error..like Richard Rose was EVEN AFTER his REALIZATION he was in error.(this is what happens if one gets the mind realization,but not the joy part..by the way....because even so the MIND is the pattern,the joy is the POWER...ponder my mahayogi words!!)
Again....he never managed to give anyone his realization,or to teach his way of self-realization,because there was none...so he decided in his delusion that ,,there is no way,,..other then the intense searching...because there is no recipe for a ,,thunder strike,, as he called it..(he got his realization after a hard trauma of finding that his girlfriend future wife was a lesbian...and he said,,that's it...no more of pain for me..and he truly meditated at last without hopes...be aware that before this incident he committed suicide again when he was young(like 17 yo) by ingesting some rats poison...he did it because some barbie plastic girl from his village he loved proved to be a whore,and he tried to kill himself..but you see..you don't DIE easily if your pure DESIRE is right..for you'll be protected )
I talked to some of his disciples and they explained me how tough he was,and how he'd kick my ass if I ever met him...those people are deluded...for the simple fact that he developed the mind reading powers,that one by itself is not a sign of realization...and trust me...I am tougher then he was ever..for he was still in the mind realm,and I am not...I read THOUGHTS for breakfast..trust the mahayogi!!!
The fact that he has died insane..due to Alzheimer's disease
is not a very proof of his abilities...what he represented from my point of view is the power of pure desire,combined with sheer will vector of the MIND....what is interesting is that you can actually see the soul of the person by the way the person looks...and his/her face..is true those changes are not relevant from the absolute point of view,but since the consciousness (or the soul ..the soul is just the spirit manifesting ) is tight to the body,the face never betrays your lack of joy...
Now watch this fruitcake's face... whom was realized in the MIND aspect only,and explain me where is his joy..guess the mind reading abilities went down the drain while he was in the mental nuts hospital..for 10 years before he finally died,and spare us of his calamity of knowing the MIND without JOY....which he inflicted on his followers..
You see..the JOY of the spirit is also a POWER ..the fact that it splits in myriads consciousness factors(the one you call ,,,soul,,) it doesn't mean is separated...is THE VERY source of the creation,one with your very thin hairs on your ass...trust ME!..so shave your ass,and become a Buddha,says the mahayogi..and the grasshoppers from the 10 realms did it...and they were happy at last..Halleluyah,brothers from heaven!!..cried out the mahayogi..
.But if you think he had any joy...think again....what amazes me is that he actually wrote in some book of his this very sentence ,,check out any avenue,,..yet...he never did it...his system of self-realization was to use mind,since he knew no better..maybe his 10 years spent in the sanatorium before he died taught him a lesson..since he lost all his mind,and forgot at LAST that he was not a person,and NEITHER everybody was(even so he knew it..he still tried to inflict his own pattern of self-realization to others..which is his insanity he had to pay for before his clumsy death,as a vegetable..
Remember a true MASTER dies willingly...he HAS powers beyond beliefs..there is no SUCH thing as being ruled by the elements,and one of the elements is the very consciousness factor..some Masters went poof into the light..some died with earthquakes...but none of the true MASTERS didn't show their true abilities at the time of death....some modified their bodies...some as the Buddha moved his leg while in the coffin...some did all kinds of miracles things....be careful..they wanted to inspire people on their path,by showing off their powers in the last second..TRUST ME!...for that was their last time to show people their TRUE powers..if they had any,of course..)
Now watch this fruitcake's face... whom was realized in the MIND aspect only,and explain me where is his joy..guess the mind reading abilities went down the drain while he was in the mental nuts hospital..for 10 years before he finally died,and spare us of his calamity of knowing the MIND without JOY....which he inflicted on his followers..
You see..the JOY of the spirit is also a POWER ..the fact that it splits in myriads consciousness factors(the one you call ,,,soul,,) it doesn't mean is separated...is THE VERY source of the creation,one with your very thin hairs on your ass...trust ME!..so shave your ass,and become a Buddha,says the mahayogi..and the grasshoppers from the 10 realms did it...and they were happy at last..Halleluyah,brothers from heaven!!..cried out the mahayogi..
.But if you think he had any joy...think again....what amazes me is that he actually wrote in some book of his this very sentence ,,check out any avenue,,..yet...he never did it...his system of self-realization was to use mind,since he knew no better..maybe his 10 years spent in the sanatorium before he died taught him a lesson..since he lost all his mind,and forgot at LAST that he was not a person,and NEITHER everybody was(even so he knew it..he still tried to inflict his own pattern of self-realization to others..which is his insanity he had to pay for before his clumsy death,as a vegetable..
Remember a true MASTER dies willingly...he HAS powers beyond beliefs..there is no SUCH thing as being ruled by the elements,and one of the elements is the very consciousness factor..some Masters went poof into the light..some died with earthquakes...but none of the true MASTERS didn't show their true abilities at the time of death....some modified their bodies...some as the Buddha moved his leg while in the coffin...some did all kinds of miracles things....be careful..they wanted to inspire people on their path,by showing off their powers in the last second..TRUST ME!...for that was their last time to show people their TRUE powers..if they had any,of course..)
Because you KNOW a true master the way he dies...not the way he lives... this is the time to recognize a true master,indeed....because when you'll loose your body and mind..that is the time to show if you really had any powers over life or death...since a true master masks himself during life..why is that?..because on this realm both saints and devils are mixed...there are other realms where they are separated,but not on earth...TRUST the mahayogi!..
Show me you gave a system,clear meditation techniques..and mostly mask your own experiences,because nobody would understand those anyway (like the time I went poof into the light,and I was the light..or the time I projected my body just to scare some people....or to make them happy...)...and the MOSTLY..do NOT MAKE people worship YOU..this is very important ...because they'll loose their own POWER if they do that!!..that's why I prefer to be crucified then worshiped....because there is no difference between you and me,other then the realization level of my own nature..and my own nature is also your OWN divine nature!!..Ponder..grasshoppers from heaven...a true MASTER is the one whom makes YOU a master !!...kiss")
Show me you gave a system,clear meditation techniques..and mostly mask your own experiences,because nobody would understand those anyway (like the time I went poof into the light,and I was the light..or the time I projected my body just to scare some people....or to make them happy...)...and the MOSTLY..do NOT MAKE people worship YOU..this is very important ...because they'll loose their own POWER if they do that!!..that's why I prefer to be crucified then worshiped....because there is no difference between you and me,other then the realization level of my own nature..and my own nature is also your OWN divine nature!!..Ponder..grasshoppers from heaven...a true MASTER is the one whom makes YOU a master !!...kiss")
You see..grasshoppers from heaven..the pure desire to know the truth is innate..you are either born with it,or not...is not something you could build up..because that would be the end of all your illusions..and the ego(false ideas about surviving,powers and stuff..) will not give up,since it doesn't KNOW it is a FAKE!!..see?..and any attempts to bypass that pure desire will give you so much suffering in your life,that you'll PONDER again about your source within...see?
Willingly or not..you'll be forced..by the kripto spirit within you...is not something you could choose,or select.
Is not something you can pray for...or teach people...why you THINK Jesus was crucified for ?..he'd tried to explain,and that was the result..they killed him on the cross...this is what happens if you try to explain too much,indeed...the buddhists who meditated in the caves alone were the best..at least they were not trying to change the formidable collective thought-forms...
You have no chance(unless you're a mahayogi like me,loved in the 3 worlds,worshiped in 10..etc..and unless you by-passed the illusion of self,AND the illusion of the OUTER self..then you'll understand that everyone you meet is a projection of you..and stop the internal split..because most everybody I've met whom claimed they were meditating,they were actually playing with their thoughts in their minds...not for a second realizing they are fake..how could they SEE the spirit in others,the love and joy of manifestation,since they didn't even resolve their OWN sense of SELF?..be careful that most realized being stop of their recognition that there is no self..but they NEVER realize that the other people,or the whole existence by the way..is voided ..so they try at their best to change others.and at their worst to blame others...be aware that the ESSENCE is ONE...and is your kripto spirit within...whom you blame?..your father..your mother..??..your neighbor ??..you REALLY think they are the cause of your suffering?...find your TRUE SELF,and KNOW you are the others,in a resonant factor...)
You have no chance(unless you're a mahayogi like me,loved in the 3 worlds,worshiped in 10..etc..and unless you by-passed the illusion of self,AND the illusion of the OUTER self..then you'll understand that everyone you meet is a projection of you..and stop the internal split..because most everybody I've met whom claimed they were meditating,they were actually playing with their thoughts in their minds...not for a second realizing they are fake..how could they SEE the spirit in others,the love and joy of manifestation,since they didn't even resolve their OWN sense of SELF?..be careful that most realized being stop of their recognition that there is no self..but they NEVER realize that the other people,or the whole existence by the way..is voided ..so they try at their best to change others.and at their worst to blame others...be aware that the ESSENCE is ONE...and is your kripto spirit within...whom you blame?..your father..your mother..??..your neighbor ??..you REALLY think they are the cause of your suffering?...find your TRUE SELF,and KNOW you are the others,in a resonant factor...)
But IF YOU have it(that pure desire to know the truth)and want to escape the realm of suffering...and you DO NOT follow your pure desire..shit will happen,indeed...
Then the same powerful forces whom protected you all the way in your life,will turn against you...or you could stop looking for the truth,and forget about the whole stuff,and waste your present life in illusions...
BUT if you love your hidden suffering..that is ok...grasshoppers from heaven...and remember that you can't win in the battle with the universe itself..since the universe is you,and you'll create an internal battle within yourself,between good and evil...same story you see in the movies,but your life is a movie,and you don't KNOW IT!!
In any case..the whole book is here about Rose..kiss to David Gold
with
Bart Marshall
Bart Marshall
-added by danny-
quote"
"She lived on the third floor of a boarding house, and her room was right across from the steps. When I got to the top of the stairs I heard strange noises coming from her apartment, so I put my ear to the door. I heard her voice, squeaky bed springs, and a deeper voice.
"She lived on the third floor of a boarding house, and her room was right across from the steps. When I got to the top of the stairs I heard strange noises coming from her apartment, so I put my ear to the door. I heard her voice, squeaky bed springs, and a deeper voice.
"I raised my fist to pound on the door, but then thought better of it. There was only one bathroom on the floor, so I decided to sit down on the stairs and wait ‘em out. They'd have to come out eventually and I'd see who the guy was.
"Sure enough, after an hour or so I heard the sound of heavy work boots. I stood up and the door opens. Out she walks with her lover. Except it wasn’t a man. Her lover was a thick-legged woman with short hair."
Rose seemed amused at the memory.
"So I stumbled back to my hotel room in shock--I had a cheap room over top of a Japanese restaurant. Next thing you know I’m propping myself up with my feet tucked under me in a yoga pose to meditate. But I’d barely got started when something happened.
"It began with a tremendous pain right in the top of my head. Now I've had pain before, but nothing like this. Tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't stand it. My head felt like it was going to explode, and I thought, 'Oh boy, three thousand miles from home and here I go.' I was convinced I was dying. Nobody could have that much pain and live. I remember thinking it must be a stroke, and I worried about how my people were going to get my body back home. They didn't have money to be shipping bodies across the country.
"Then, at the peak of the pain, I went out the window. I could see the Cascade mountains from my hotel room, and that's where I went--out the window and towards those snow-capped mountains. I was aware of seeing people on the street, except that I was above them. I passed over the people, and then over the mountains, and I watched this just like I was in an airplane. And I kept going out until I arrived at a 'place.' I don't say where. It wasn't the Cascades or anywhere else I knew. It wasn't on Earth because there was no sun, there was no sky. I simply arrived at a high place, and it was beautiful.
"I became aware at some point that I was in a causal realm--that I was the reason for its existence, that whatever I thought became a reality. In other words, I was causing things to happen, to be created, merely by desiring or thinking about them. The thought passed through me then that I was alone and that I wanted to see humanity--all of it. And so they appeared, all of humanity--everyone who had ever lived, everyone who ever would live--covering a huge mountain below me, crawling over each other like maggots, trying to get to the top. I was aware that they were engaged in a struggle that had an ultimate spiritual goal, but their immediate lives and pleasures were pathetic. I was still in some sort of astral form at this point--still maintaining an attachment to the body and to these people--and so I felt a tremendous amount of grief and sadness for their seemingly senseless struggle.
"I knew that if I desired I could pick out individuals, that I could see any man or woman who ever lived or ever would live. Because there was no such thing as time. These people were all living now--no matter what the earth time was for their lives--and all I had to do was pick them out, if I wished.
"So I thought to myself, if everyone is down there, then I must be there, too. And I looked down into the maggot pile, and there I was--Richard Rose. I could see myself struggling down there, the little man, happy in his illusion. I could see his whole life pattern.
"And then I thought, 'If that's Richard Rose down there, who's watching all this?' Suddenly I realized I was not just my individual self. I was the whole mass of humanity and the Observer watching it all--I was Everything. This propelled me into an indescribable experience of what I can only call ‘Everything-ness.’
Rose paused for a moment and looked around the table. When he resumed speaking his voice had a distant quality. "There’s just no words…no way I can talk about what that was… no way to begin to describe the…" his voice trailed off, "…the Totality."
The room stayed silent as Rose took a sip of tea. "Then, as I was experiencing this Everything-ness, this Totality, I got to wondering, 'If this is Everything, then what's Nothing?' Because even though I was in an Absolute dimension I still carried traces of my relative mind, which is always looking for dualities, for opposites.
"As soon as the thought of 'Nothing' occurred I started falling. I fell through an incredible void and blackness. And I thought, 'Oh boy, this is it. I'm gone forever.'
But I wasn't. At the end of Nothingness I was back on Earth, in my room in Seattle.
"And strangely enough, something was aware of the Nothingness as I fell, and of the Everything-ness as I took command of creation. That's why I say, in the final analysis, what you are is the Observer. That which you see is never you. That which sees, that's you.
"
Quote: http://www.richardrose.org/ata7.htm
This is AFTER his experience...(added by danny)
"What is it like to come back, Mister Rose?" he asked. "Is the world different, or do you leave the Experience behind?"This is AFTER his experience...(added by danny)
"The world is never the same again. For me now, it's like I'm an insane man watching all this. Of course that's a very liberating state to be in," he said with a grin. "An insane man is free to do all sorts of insane things."
The laughter provided a welcome break from the seriousness. The whole room seemed to loosen up, including Rose.
"It was pretty rough at first, though. The night I came back I couldn't stop weeping. I just wandered the streets crying uncontrollably, looking for a bridge high enough to jump off of. Seriously. I didn't want to live. I couldn't stand the thought of being back here in the nightmare. The only reason I didn't jump is the rivers are shallow out there and I was afraid I'd just get stuck in the mud.
"Then I passed a church and that gave me hope. I figured that priests spend their lives looking, maybe one of them has read something about what just happened to me. So I knocked on the door. This blob of a priest with an enormous gut answers and he looks at me like I'm some kind of worm. I knew he wasn't going to be any help, so I asked him, 'Are there any older priests around?' There I am, standing on the church steps with tears streaming down my cheeks and he doesn’t even invite me in. He just scowls at me and says, 'How long has it been since you've been to confession.'
"And I thought, 'Where's my gun?'" Rose continued talking through the laughter. "Really. I wanted to shoot the bastard. But the anger was good. It helped bring me out of it. It helped me stop weeping.
"Gradually, the worst of the trauma passed and I started drifting back into life again. But I still felt terribly out of place in a world that I knew without a shadow of a doubt was an illusion--having just visited the real place. For several weeks people were transparent to me. I mean literally transparent--I could see right through their bodies.
"So I figured I'd better head back home, because I still wasn't too stable. I had an old friend living in Alliance, Ohio, and he got me a job at the place he was working. That's when everything became beautiful to me. Hills were once more hills, valleys once more valleys. Children looked like baby dolls. The starkness of the Absolute I had visited now made life and motion appear as beauty to me. Those months following my Experience were the happiest of my life, except maybe for the years of peace and bliss I had in my twenties when I was living a very ascetic lifestyle.
"Every day I'd come back to my room after work and sit down in front of the typewriter. I'd given up on trying to talk about the Experience--you just can't describe an Absolute condition using relative terms--but I had hoped to write a book of poetry and at least try to capture the beauty of the illusion I'd been forced to come back to. Most of it I tore up as soon as I wrote it. But then one day something came over me and I was able to write about my Experience. That’s when I wrote ‘The Three Books of the Absolute.’
"It was like automatic writing," Rose continued. "The words just appeared on the page."
A hand was raised near the front of the room. "Do you think your years of asceticism brought about your Experience?"
"Not really. It was like a period of adolescence on the way to adulthood. Necessary, but not directly causal. However, I do think that all that experimentation, investigation, and especially conservation of my energy, was definitely part of the preparation for my Experience."
"What's the other part?"
"The main preparation for Enlightenment is trauma. But you don't need to engage in any special disciplines to induce it. Your life will give you plenty of trauma whether you're on a spiritual path or not. Indulge in it while you can. You'll have plenty of peace in the marble orchard--maybe." Rose laughed in a way that made me uneasy.
"What I mean is," he continued, "you have to go through these traumas in life--now, while you're on Earth--in order to improve your situation after death. Everyone may be immortal, but we don't all go to the same place when we die. Awareness may not terminate for anyone, but you can't expect to advance into a dimension that you haven't mentally vaccinated yourself to beforehand. If the average mind--with its convictions and limitations--landed in an Absolute dimension, it would think it was either in oblivion or hell."
"Will a person who’s been doing spiritual practices, like meditating regularly, get a foreshadowing of what you finally experienced?"
"No. This does not accrue gradually. It happens suddenly and is never anything like you might imagine beforehand. I always thought a spiritual experience would be sheer beauty. I had visions of reaching some beautiful fields of flowers or God knows what. And the fact that I found something so utterly devastating and contrary to my desires convinced me that the experience was genuine, and not the product of wishful thinking.
"It's the effort you put forth--the vector you create--that propels you into this, not an accumulation of knowledge. You're engaged in a relentless pursuit of Truth, yes, but even in the midst of it you suspect that you are incapable of perceiving the Truth. So you engage in the obsessive pursuit of a goal while simultaneously believing you will never be successful. You live this! A person on the spiritual path lives this every moment of every day of his life. You push and push and push without hope. And then, no words or logic can explain what finally happens. It's an explosion. Your being changes."
"But doesn't the wisdom you acquire on your search coalesce in Enlightenment?"
"No," Rose said flatly. "That is not the path. You can't acquire wisdom because you don't know what it is. The path is subtractive. You keep sorting through the garbage pile to see if something real lies underneath it. And after you get done subtracting everything, what's left is an Absolute condition. That's what's real, not the little bits and pieces you set aside because you thought they were true along the way. You don't know anything until you know Everything."
"Do you think other people have had the same type of experience you did?"
"Oh yes, I know that now. But after my Experience I felt completely isolated. It wasn't until years later that I found out about other spiritual incidents. I was in Steubenville, Ohio--we had a little group that met there--and after one of the meetings a woman handed me a copy of Richard Bucke's Cosmic Consciousness." When I read it I knew I wasn’t alone.
"But cosmic consciousness isn't the final experience," Rose continued. "The people in Bucke's book describe an experience where they understand the harmonious interworkings of everything in the universe. They see lights and experience bliss, and so on. This is wonderful. But experiencing the Absolute goes beyond all that. In the Absolute there is no bliss or sorrow."
Rose reached into his old black "satchel," as he called it, and rooted around for something. After a few moments he pulled out a copy The Albigen Papers.
"As I said, the closest I ever came to describing this was when I wrote ‘The Three Books of the Absolute. ‘ I’d tried several times before that to write about my Experience, but gave up. There was just no way to do it. Words and language exist in one dimension, so to speak, and the Experience in another--a dimension without words, a dimension that can’t even be imagined in dimensions where words exist. And so, there was just no way. But one day this poem, or whatever it is, just came to me, complete, all at once. I could hear it and feel it and all I did was get it down as fast as I could. Once I’d finished I never went back and changed anything. I just published it as it came to me. Anyway, it’s here in the back of this book. It’s rather long and I don’t want to put you through the whole thing, but I thought maybe I’d read the last few lines to you."
Rose patted his pockets and looked around the podium for his glasses. He found them in an inside coat pocket and put them on, then flipped through the book until he found the spot he was looking for. He stared at the words for several moments before speaking and by the time he began to read the room was impossibly silent.
"...And soon I see, looking ahead, that all my joys are not, that all my love is not, that all my being is not.
And I see that all Knowing is not. And the eminent I-ness melts into the embraces of oblivion.
It melts into the embraces of oblivion like a charmed lover, fighting the spell and languishing into it.
And now I breathe Space and walk in Emptiness. My soul freezes in the void and my thoughts melt into an indestructible blackness.
My consciousness struggles voiceless to articulate and it screams into the abysses of itself. Yet there is no echo.
All that remains is All.
My spark of life falls through the canyons of the universe, and my soul cannot weep for its loss....for lamentation and sorrow are things apart.
All that remains is All.
The universes pass like a fitful vision.
The darkness and the void are part of the Unknowing....
Nothing is everywhere....
Death shall exist forever....
All that remains is All."
"
Not interested since you said... The main preparation for Enlightenment is trauma"
Why not the bliss you idiot Richard?//bliss is not good enough for you,you had to marry a lesbian to
feel the pain?..so you decided after your brother died..then olny pain is good?
?
love to your demented way of teaching people //sucks to be you.indeed..!
Thus spokenths the mahayogi!
Kiss my ass in the next life with your,,trauma stuff...dememnted one?..love to you!
.....added by Danny.......
Not interested since you said... The main preparation for Enlightenment is trauma"
Why not the bliss you idiot Richard?//bliss is not good enough for you,you had to marry a lesbian to
feel the pain?..so you decided after your brother died..then olny pain is good?
?
love to your demented way of teaching people //sucks to be you.indeed..!
Thus spokenths the mahayogi!
Kiss my ass in the next life with your,,trauma stuff...dememnted one?..love to you!
.....added by Danny.......
To nourish the vital energy, keep watch in silence;
In order to subdue the mind, act with non-action.
Of movement and stillness, be aware of their origin;
There is no work to do, much less someone to seek.
The true and constant must respond to phenomena;
Responding to phenomena, you must be unconfused.
When unconfused, the nature will stabilize by itself;
When the nature stabilizes, energy returns by itself.
When energy returns, the elixir crystallizes by itself;
Within the pot, the trigrams of kǎn and lí are joined.
Yīn and yáng arise, alternating over and over again;
Every transformation comes like a clap of thunder.
White clouds form and come to assemble at the peak;
The sweet nectar sprinkles down Mount Sumeru.
Swallow for yourself this wine of immortality;
You wander so freely—who is able to know you?
Sit and listen to the tune played without strings;
Clearly understand the mechanism of creation.
It comes entirely from these twenty lines;
A true ladder going straight to Heaven.-Daoist text -
To us all towns are one, all men our kin. Life's good comes not from others' gift, nor ill. Man's pains and pains' relief are from within. Thus have we seen in visions of the wise !." - Tamil Poem-
..........
"The center of the cyclone is that rising quiet central low-pressure place in which one can learn to live eternally. Just outside of this Center is the rotating storm of one's own ego, competing with other egos in a furious high-velocity circular dance. As one leaves center, the roar of rotating wind deafens on more and more as one joins this dance. One's centered thinking-feeling-being, one's own Satoris, are in the center only, not outside. One's pushed-pulled driven states, one's anti-Satori modes of functioning, one's self-created hells, are outside the center. In the center of the cyclone one is off the wheel of Karma, of life, rising to join the Creators of the Universe, the Creators of us.
Here we find that we have created Them who are Us...
Lilly's Law
"In the province of the mind, what is believed to be true is true or becomes true, within certain limits to be found experimentally. These limits are further beliefs to be transcended. In the province of the(true mind..added by danny) mind, there are no limits."" -- John C. Lilly -
Lilly's Law
"In the province of the mind, what is believed to be true is true or becomes true, within certain limits to be found experimentally. These limits are further beliefs to be transcended. In the province of the(true mind..added by danny) mind, there are no limits."" -- John C. Lilly -
Unless you know the emptiness and bliss inside yourself..you'll be a robot forced by the same emptiness and bliss trying to know itself..by pain..inside your self also..trust me!..said the mahayogi!
The student asked: “A sage's response to changing conditions
is unlimited. Does he have to study beforehand?”
He should worry only about his mind's not being
clear, and not about the inability to respond to all changing conditions.”
— Wang Yang Ming (1472-1529)
Those whom have ears to hear,let them see..those whom have eyes to see..let them hear good...Kripto Bible 2.12
