Category Archives: Daily reminders

mind game reminder

funny-crazy-mind-bunnies-clipartToday, surrounded by loving, awake friends, I was reminded of other ways to address the nattering nighttime mind.

The thoughts are precipitated by feelings. Sink into those. Welcome them, even if they are uncomfortable. Most likely, they are familiar friends who have been with me most of my life.

The feelings, when I place my attention on them, reveal themselves as simple bodily sensations. Notice these.

Allow pure awareness to seep into them, expanding and dissolving the remnants. Or invite them to soften and gradually disperse.

Rest in beingness.

Repeat again, again, again. Again.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015
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mind game

untamed mindLife is busy. I take moments during the day and rest in the truth of what I am. But the most available time is when I go to bed, and don’t go to sleep–aging insomnia—so I hang out simply being.

For a few blessed moments, quiet.

Then the mind starts rambling, babbling, screaming. The thoughts are annoying, repetitive, and without meaning. Obnoxious. At first I was sure the mind was getting louder. It dawned on me it has always been this loud, but as my appreciation and attraction to being grows, the noisy mind becomes more obvious.

The teaching says, “Leave thoughts alone. Don’t touch them.” Supposedly, if one leaves them alone enough, they lose strength. This is not my experience. They natter, natter, natter on. I do my best not to fiddle with them.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015
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eddies and whirlpools – redux

eddiesImagine—we’re floating down a gentle river in inner tubes on a blazing July afternoon. Our butts hang in the cool water, the tube surfaces are warm—growing hotter where the water does not splash on them—and the sun beats down on the exposed parts of our bodies.

Then, abruptly, a whirlpool catches your inner tube, and for a little bit, the tube is spun in place in the river, and you are seemingly separated from the main flow—then the whirlpool disperses, and off the ride goes again.

A while later, an eddy pulls my tube into a bend—a quiet nook in the river—and now I appear to be independent of the main flow. Then the eddy gives way, and the tube rocks a bit until the current grabs it and pulls me back into the main body of the river.

We are always one with the river, but seemingly separated at times. What a delicious metaphor for awareness and embodiment. Awareness is the river—always there, always alive and flowing. The whirlpools and eddies are embodiments—where for a little while, we show up on the planet; we look separate, we may feel separate, but we are never separated—or independent—for one instant from the grand flow that we are.

Then the body dissipates just like the eddy back into that from whence it came, and once again, only one awareness, one river.

Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015
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Filed under Daily reminders, death, Musings, Non-duality, Truth

paradox

paradoxParadox: that’s what we’ve got. It’s not something unique that shows up on occasion, it’s the whole, wild, everyday display.

My relative offers deep insight into his friend’s abuse of his body, then drinks himself into a stupor, displaying no understanding of self-care.

The Texas floods sweep away this family, but not that one. The tornado slices through an Oklahoma town—half of it is pulverized, the other half remains untouched.

A terrorist group, in the name of their God, brutalizes children and sledge-hammers ancient sacred sites, while monks chant, meditate, and pray for the awakening of all beings.

Many people busy themselves with asking why.

I find all of it without meaning—the apparent good or the apparent bad. It’s just the phantasmagorical, endless, erupting Now.
The terrible, magnificent Now.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015

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the source of thoughts

thinker-clipart-thinking-person-hiIn our western culture, we assume that the source of thinking is the mind.

This was deeply embedded in my parents’ belief system, and passed along to me. It was an unquestioned assumption.

But how could this be? The so-called mind (which is a concept; I have never found a thing called “the mind,” have you?) is itself an apparent object. It is a thought; it cannot generate thought.

Thoughts bubble up in consciousness, like every other apparent thing that manifests. They arise in in it, and are made of it.

©Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015
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coincidence and mind

diceWhat is this phenomenon we call coincidence? Inner knowing says: seemingly coincidental events are not extraordinary, not at all–in fact, they are quite ordinary.

Mind delights in entertaining itself with stories of magic and mystery.

Some moment–now, or in an eon or two–thought notices the endless, repeating, always-behind-the-present nature of itself, and tires. No-thing it followed, yearned for, and commented upon has fulfilled its longing for more, for answers, for riches, for love, for understanding. For the briefest instant, thought stops.

The whisper of a crack appears. Dust settles there. Perhaps a trickle of water finds its way through. A seed plants itself. Maybe a teacher appears. Soon, the crack is an ever-widening crevice, pushed open by the roots of knowing. There is no stopping the process; the pattern has crossed the point of no return. Frightened, thought–which in turn is laced and embedded with feeling–scrabbles for the known. But the known is unreliable; it comes and goes. Suffering or chaos ensue. Little bubbles of grace erupt. Eventually, the pattern cannot hold together, and crumbles, finer, finer–much like the first dust that floated into that tiny fissure.

Mind quiets, or at least is not given much credence. It is recognized for what it is: a necessary tool for some aspects of life.

A generous love blooms.

And what of coincidence? Each time, a gentle reminder that this unfolding pageant stems from the same eternal, infinite source.

©Amrita Skye Blaine
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start here

bird in dogs mouth

I come across this photo. The mind squawks, “No! Poor bird!”

Pausing, I start here. Here, now. Quietly notice.

The dog’s lip is curved around sharp teeth. In the retrieving world, this is called “soft mouth.” The bird’s feet are not clamped in distress, nor do they seem dead. They may be registering surprise, but again, that’s the mind commenting. I can’t know.

Smiling, I imagine the dog opened her mouth and, the bird, sensing fresh air and opportunity, took flight—another comment of the mind.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015
photo origin: unknown. If you are aware the source, please contact me so I can properly assign credit.

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