Seeing into NothingnessThe world as we know it is the result of the minds of men who've fashioned it in their ideas and preferences. This same world can be refashioned in a clearer, kinder image with a little more awareness and self-emptying.
This is the true seeing,
The eternal seeing
- Shen-hui (8th cent)
Let's consider that God, or that which we call God, is still unborn in this world. Yes, in the Christian metaphor, Jesus realized God-nature and embodied what is called Christ-consciousness. But what if his realization was only the inaugural of the potential of the process of allowing To Be that which we long for, namely, the Source, Oneness, Interconnectedness, & Stillness (SOIS) of each to each, all to all, now and forever?
SOIS, in French, is the present subjunctive of the verb Etre, to be. We suggest, require, and request that which is to be God in our midst.
Use the present subjunctive in statements that express a suggestion, requirement, or request.There is, it is said, no time with God. God, soi-disant, is not the egoic creation of man. God, soi-meme en-soi, is oneself Itself.
-- LB Brief by Jane E. Aaron (Longman: 2002); The Brief Holt Handbook (3rd ed.) by Laurie G. Kirszner and Stephen R. Mandell (Harcourt: 2001).
To be oneself itself is the longing, I submit, of every being in existence.
One hears the words: "Although I'm old, I feel young"; (French: Bien que je sois vieux, je me sens jeune.)
In effect, although we are neither young or old, we call ourselves these things in this manner because it is the way of this world to cast everything in quantitative distinction.
We love to think about God. We would like God to come to be the way of the world, namely, source, oneness, interconnected, & still.
There are two deserts -- that of God and that of man. This is where we wander. Is this all we are to hope for? Is there something else we might see?
AIRLet our singing be the chant of creation.
Naturally it is night.
Under the overturned lute with its
One string I am going my way
Which has a strange sound.
This way the dust, that way the dust.
I listen to both sides
But I keep right on.
I remember the leaves sitting in judgment
And then winter.
I remember the rain with its bundle of roads.
The rain taking all its roads.
Young as I am, old as I am,
I forget tomorrow, the blind man.
I forget the life among the buried windows.
The eyes in the curtains.
Growing through the immortelles.
I forget silence
The owner of the smile.
This must be what I wanted to be doing,
Walking at night between the two deserts,
(Poem by W. S. Merwin )