Thursday, January 19, 2012

The Self Is Not Singular

The Wait

It is life in slow motion, It's the heart in reverse, it's a hope-and-a-half: Too much and too little at once.

It's a train that suddenly stops with no station around, and we can hear the cricket, and leaning out the carriage door, we vainly contemplate a wind we feel that stirs the blooming meadows, the meadows made imaginary by this stop.

Rainer Maria Rilke, one of Germany’s beloved poets, was born in Prague in 1875. His spiritual poetry and physical journey through time are lesson in awareness. Rilke believed there was something more to him than the self woke up every morning, and his mission was to identify that something. He used a fluid blend of thought and words to achieve that task. Rilke’s poems have their own life and death, their own birth and discovery, and their own silence. The silence is the vibration of neighboring realities. Those realities are filled with the wisdom of a cricket's voice, and the magnificent of a meadow filled with blossoms of consciousness.

To know different aspects of the self, we must stop our train of thoughts where there is no train station. We must stop our motion in the middle of our own projected tracks, and listen to the nothing of silence. In that place, we find a subtle invitation, and we sense the self’s multiplicity. Once we accept that invitation we immediately embark on a heightened journey of awareness. We discover that the self is not singular experiencing a physical life of duality; it is an endless number of selves that intersect and connect as individual and mass events unfold from our pools of probabilities.

Life is a joint-stock company and the board of directors is alternate selves that experience the probabilities that develop from our choices. We live in the complexity of consciousness just like a beach filled with grains of sand. And, just like the beach, part of us lives in one world, and other parts thrive in other worlds. We are never too much or too little, and like the wind we are exactly what we need to be in order expand our beach of consciousness. Endless blooming meadows of consciousness align with elements our essence in infinite patterns. We express our individual pattern using intents, desires, and purposes. Our metaphoric symbols create one reality, and we focus on it.

These symbols originate in our dreams, and immaculately other selves manifest. We feel a cricket vibrating in our own silence, and know that our physical life is but one life. That life is lodged between the hairs of the cricket’s legs.

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