It’s quite illusory to hang on to a private, hidden, truer self apart from how you actually are,
even if therapy promotes this grand illusion and profits from it.
Instead, the realism of Heraclitus: You are how you are.
James Hillman
The reality
Tag: Life
Sunday Quote: An Autumn chant
Gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā
[“Gone, Gone, Gone beyond, Completely gone to the Other Shore. Oh what an Awakening”]
The final lines of the Heart Sutra considered by some Buddhists the perfection of all wisdom – Pragya Paramita- finding a pace of rest, a stability that is beyond all coming or going.
Who is in control?
The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive.
To put it more accurately, it is not so much that you use your mind wrongly – you usually don’t use it at all. It uses you. This is the disease.
You believe that you are your mind. This is the delusion. The instrument has taken you over.
Eckhart Tolle
A new day, a new week
Is it possible to meet each other or to meet the flower, the bird, or the new day without anything interfering?
And if the past does come up, to see that it is memory coming up? And not be ruled by it, not be compelled and narrowed down by it? To see it and to wonder whether it has to interfere?
Toni Parker
Sunday Quote : whole
Signs of Autumn all around….
It is not our job to remain whole.
We came to lose our leaves
Like the trees, and be born again,
Drawing up from the great roots.
Robert Bly
My strength is trust
A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and smallest scar on my bark. I was born to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.
A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers. I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labour is holy. Out of this trust I live
Hermann Hesse, Trees: Reflections and Poems
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