Re-post in a book editing context /
The mind does not leave the mind.
It can never escape itself
The harder it tries to access more subtle plans
The further away it drives itself from such dimensions.
This certainly is one of the funniest things on Earth and beyond.
If we ever get to peek through the keyhole at the machinery in the control room,
If we ever get surprised by the other side, by the ‘over side’,
We’d hardly refrain from smiling.
Relying only on the mind to help us steer away from our inner circular mechanisms is a default belief that needs to be felt, experienced, pushed to its painful and frustrating limits.
Once it has exhausted itself through these relentless efforts at leaving itself,
Once it has lost the fight, the fight ceases and opens onto this tremendously liberating perspective.
There is no fight. There has never been any.
People may be fighting at the kitchen window.
But the house is huge, and the garden, infinite.
So why do we care ?
All it takes is to stop listening, to stop caring for their never-ending argument.
There is no obligation to squeeze in and wait in the middle of their blaring voices.
We just stand there, because we don’t know where to go. We have no idea there are other places to be.
Like a child caught in his parents’ verbal fight : he ends up being used to it and even develops a pervert addiction to the instability it creates, as it is the only situation he has grown familiar with.
Observing the mind, as it furls and unfurls before our eyes in a perpetual masochistic dance, we may wonder whether there is anything we can cling to, so as to extract from the twirl.
Isn’t there a couple of old planks we can hold on to ? Anything to keep us afloat in the rapids ?
Words can be such buoys.
We are really lucky to have words.
The very words driving us mad and dragging us further and further down to the bottom of the pool, can also act as crowbars to our salvation.
They are the pebbles letting us see which way the thinking river flows, the lumps that make the thinking sauce a little more raspy.
Words are thistles letting us know which way the wind blows.
They allow us to feel ‘thinking’ as it happens.
Of course the mind’s activity cannot be restricted to thinking. It is much wider than words. But the latter will help us grasp at something.
And once we have learned to grasp, we can learn to let go.
As we let go off words, we let go off thinking.
Focus, focus on the words, then wonder: how would it be without them ?
What happens when words stop being the building stones of our fantasy world ?
Can we stop caring ?
How does it feel to be over ‘thinking’ ?
©FJ Jan 2018 All Rights Reserved