Not my-self, but the no-self I am.
We acknowledge Luke today. He wrote early Christian scriptures.
Cure those in it who are sick, and say, “The kingdom of God is very near to you”. (Luke 10:9, Jer.Bib)
Or: Whatever town you enter and they welcome you, eat what is set before you, cure the sick in it and say to them, 'The kingdom of God is at hand for you.' (NAB)
Or: 10:9 And heal the sick that are therein, and say unto them, The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you. (KJB)
The deadliest sickness today is the lie saying we are this or that, never this and that, and (of course) avoiding altogether the revelation we are not-this, not-that.
The writer of Romans 2:11 says: There is no partiality with God.
What is God? God is seeing whole. That one, seeing whole, is no other (than, then) God.
Four thousand days and nights.
For a poem to be born,
we must murder we must murder many
shoot, assassinate, poison
so many whom we love.
Look, for just the bird's quivering tongue from the sky of four thousand nights
and days we shot and killed the silence of four thousand nights
and the contrary rays of the four thousand days.
Listen, for just the tears of one hungry child,
from every city in rain, a blast furnace,
a wharf and a coal mine in midsummer,
we assassinated the love of four thousand days
and the compassion of four thousand nights.
Do not forget, for just the fear of a single wild dog
that sees what our eyes cannot and catches what our ears cannot,
we poisoned the imagination of four thousand nights
and the cold memories of the four thousand days.
For a poem to be written, we must murder our beloved:
this is the only way to bring to life the dead,
and we must walk this way.
(Poem by Tamura Ryuichi, 1923-1998, Translated by Toshiko Fujioka, Tomoyuki Iino, and Jon Silkin)
Do we kill what-is-not
to bring life to what is?
Is our consciousness so divided and dual that we must let fall (die) that dearness of familiarity so as to be family itself? It is a terrifying consideration.
And yet, and yet, and yet...it is our mind that dies to separation, separation which has nurtured delusion in us for so long.
The ego is "separation" with only three letters.
This morning, not my-self, but the no-self I am.