Kierkegaard, an impulse: meditation

Kierkegaard,time,moment,eternity, brainpickings.org

i am alive.
there is no time
but the very individual and constantly changing perception
of my time
and the one in which i can see another in another time.

i am alive. i move, i change , i grow, i shrivel, i live, i die, and i am here and there,
seen or unseen.
who can hold the moment?

the moment, here with Kierkegaard, i am the moment,
i am eternity showing as a reflection in time, just now.

a wave, an atom, a song, a colour.
i am the name i give me and i am not i
but a mutation and a revelation of the root of  pi moving
and i am in it as a part
which is not a part.

so i started to meditate, naked, un-dressed.

and now i know and i will not know the same after
as there will never be the same again ,
not even the ripples on the surface of the water
nor the shadow of clouds, now i know:

beauty,

the asymmetrical flow of a river
echoing its borders,
the pattern of dance of
birds' feathers in the wind,
the scent of
women in love,
the perfume of plants,
the noise of  caterpillars munching leaves,
the fragrance of wild herbs,
the salty taste of sweat and of tears,
the memory of the tongue on kisses,
the sweetness of love making,
the silence of stars and moon,
the pull of the tides,
the immenseness of the sun,
the sound of the wind in trees,
the roaring of the sea
and the murmuring of water in caverns,
the softness of skin, of breasts,
the taste of honey,
the moss on stones,
the rough and resinous bark of pines,
the whiteness of doves,
the golden light of autumn,
the fragility of spider webs,
the sparkling of dew drops, of frozen snow and ice,
the innocent eyes of deer,
the structures of timber,
the pollen yellow on wet roads,
the buzzing of bees,
the humming of hymns and bumble bees,
the shades of red of roses,
the variations of a voice,
the blueness of sky and the shapeshifting of clouds,
the drumming and splashing of rain,
the unfathomable depth of wells,
the bubbling laughter of  springs,
the joy of horses running the fields,
the darkness and openings of forests,
the wideness of heaven,
the circling of buzzards,
the old paths in the hills,
the barking of dogs in empty houses,
the vibrating fur of cats purring,
the warmth of the fireplace,
the substance of hot bread,
the melting of horizons at dawn and dusk,
the  almond and the apple and the cherry blossoms
and all the bitter roots and the colours of soil,
the secret ways of  birds from continent to continent.

beauty
is a mystery, here now, unveiled and veiled.

i am a mystery and you are.

and i will never know more.

faith is grace and all love is nothing without it.

the night falls, it is time to sleep.

Gurdjieff, de Hartmann,Meditation

Gurdjieff - De Hartmann Vol 04: Meditation, par Alain Kremski

Japanese Garden Meditation

i read yesterdays thoughts...now on music and water

it is not the one sound of the flute nor the sequence or composition of notes nor the rhythm which makes music music.  it is ones mind listening  to the flow and it is the  life and spirit in what you hear taking you on from now. "good" music is undefinable, it is an entrance to development, change, blossoming out and into inner life and death at the same time. it can be  resonance of  mystery, revelation, inspiration. it is life and it is timeless. each moment in music is now, and one now follows the other: this is life. music can make you discover life as being there now, and it always is.  music takes you out of your day for day experience of time, it contradicts your concept and imagination of time as it is always there only now. when the music stops and if you loved it and you had given your complete awareness to it  owing to the spiritual quality of "good" music, you will always feel a moment of sadness as if  life had stopped for a moment and death would approach. often i feel a vague but intense desire for some place i cannot remember or i do not know, yet.

when i sit next to a river and watch its flow i tend to go into meditation. the flow takes me away, the reflections of light and shadow, the eddies, whirls, curls, the small places of hesitation or restlessness, the back current near the bank, the way of the water around obstructions, dead branches, stones, the leaves dancing on the surface, sinking, coming up again, the gurgling, the sound of the birds and the water, the scent of just this place where i am now.

the deep quality of the river is direction of flow.
even seeing the  whirlpools and the backwaters, the flow is one way.
when the path is narrow it will flow faster, when the river's bed is large it will glide more slowly.
but it is always the same flow.
water will meet water, another river, a lake, the sea. it will always reach the ocean.

one drop of water does not make the river nor the ocean
but it will always be a a part of flow and life.
this can be one spiritual core of  a meditation on water.


"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."
A.Huxley

all is inside, the forest, the sea, ...

all is inside,

the forest, the sea, the evening call of the crows, you, me.

we are made of empty space and a few sparkles of stardust.

but this space is not empty, it is space and filled with magic.

how can we walk and dance, so heavy, weighed down

with water and gravity. and this wonder, so much space inside to meet.

we are all a part and one and cannot be apart.

only thought makes all relative,

thought is centered on comparison and yesterday.  

thinking separates from experience,

it goes with words and therefore does create confusion.
thinking is an act of rebellion,  a way of being a warrior.

it makes us fall out of heaven.

we are not living in relativity,

we are not special and not ordinary,

we are who we are.

and here is the forest:

and more is not to say

John 1 

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

"in principio erat Verbum et Verbum erat apud Deum et Deus erat Verbum"

The word in the translated text was logos which does not mean "word".

We do not know about the beginning and certainly not about a word creating our universe and us. Modestly we may see all this as an emanation of what we may call God or not. It, all, God,  is beyond the grasp of thoughts and thankfully beyond the significance of words.

We cannot go beyond experience and sensation of presence  in our understanding.

As cutting as words may be as a tool of communication they lack the essence of truth, and analyzing words makes us stumble between shadows and walk in circles without awareness of the flow of life.

I am afraid of words, more and more, afraid of my own words.

From early childhood words define our perception of this life, this world, each other. 

We learn to call a rose a rose and learn to be stupidly satisfied by recognizing a rose as a rose. We do not SEE it anymore as before when we still didn't know to say rose.

I have to learn a new language without words.

and more is not to say