Hello Jon,
Yes that resonates. It's true. Thanks for doing the exercise
It was fun Jon, thank you as well:)
The "thought" orange is a mental object, a conceptual thing or image. At least in this exercise we can compare it with direct experience of a real orange that can be sensed, felt, seen, smelled and so on.
Can as much be said for what we refer to as "self"?
So far, I haven't yet seen, felt or have otherwise perceived the self. There have been a lot of thoughts about it - emotions, desires, compulsions, decisions have been attributed to the self by thought as a habit. The self has been considered as a coordinate system, a point of reference for taking certain decisions that have then been classified as self-ish, a lot of activity has gone on in this direction for a very long time. In fact, this is how I was taught to think.
But unlike the orange, I have not yet perceived the self - or an entity that I could say that knew without doubt, is the self. It has just been talked and thought about a lot.
You're welcome Raam. I'm glad to hear you say this as there are a lot of people , I've noticed, who are really caught up in exactly this thing of trying to evaluate and measure and work out where they are supposed to be on this or that path. It's good to let go of any tendency to compare or measure. All roads lead to the Gate
And thank you, Jon, for being the reason for thought to loosen its grip on the need to compare and measure, and for holding my hand through this. The love and patience you have shown with me is something I'm very grateful for.
Here and Now and nowhere else is a good place to start and stay. It actually takes no effort to stay here because it's manifesting already as what we call "the present" .
Right, Jon.
Is it about having to be 'doing' questioning in order to make something happen that otherwise would not happen ?
Now that you ask this, I guess so. I'm not sure about how it feels at the beginning, but many a time, if the questioning doesn't seem to come up by itself, there's a panic mode that I find myself in - a frenzy where I wish I wouldn't just waste time and go deeper within because who knows what tomorrow will be like, shouldn't I be "doing the best I can, to work towards my awakening" and a whole load of very serious thoughts about wanting to awaken in in this lifetime, which is definitely what you've described - trying to "do" questioning to make something happen that otherwise wouldn't.
I'm unable to say whether it begins with that attempt too, but it certainly ends up in exactly this mental state.
What if noticing happens naturally whenever Inquisitiveness appears , enough for 'waking up' or recognition of what's actually going on to reassert itself?
That'd be lovely - I suppose it does happen, but sometimes there's an impatience that wants it "now":) I think when such a natural inquisitiveness does come up, it is seen to have been natural and spontaneous only in retrospection, eventually and after the whole thing has happened. I don't know what I'm referring, to say this, but it feels like that's how I'd know, if at all I get to know that it happened that way.
In my case, I think thought loves seeping in and saying "wow, this is a natural, spontaneous inquisitiveness, isn't it", and then carries attention away into evaluating and judging:) There have been enough times when thought has come into an otherwise silent or attentive moment and said "maybe today's the day I'll awaken" and then steals the show. I can only laugh about it now.
I see what you mean, Jon. Waiting for it feels like another mental process, but the message here is that if I try to force inquisitiveness, it may not help.
Words and language have an important role in keeping the illusion rolling. We really must explore the role of words, labels and language.
Absolutely, Jon. Can't tell you how much I agree.
Once I listened to a talk by Rupert Spira where he said that (something to the effect of this, I'm paraphrasing and this is far from verbatim) if you close your eyes, what you perceive is thought and sensation. And then I realized that the word "inside" (as in inside "me") had tricked me into imagining that there were layers of darkness within which a tiny little "I" was hiding that needed to be recognized, looked deeply at and then understood clearly.
Now I could tell that this whole thing, this whole inner cave stuff was just thought. I'm just here. Which doesn't need a "deep" looking. This transparent me that I'm looking past, to "find" me, is what's me, right?
The idea of a deep, dark inside is still there, but at least at times, I can just easily shrug and be like - yeah, okay, whatever's here is what I am. This hasn't broken the belief that whatever I am is limited, and somehow associated with the body, but the need to close my eyes and search for what feels like me, reduced, I think. It feels silly to need to close my eyes and search for me when I'm just here.
I don't know if it's always like this, there ends up being a clinging to some other obscure image of an I, but there are times where it can feel a little more relaxed - still limited and even sort of bound, but relaxed and simple.
Just those phrases "I feel this inside" and "this is what's going on outside" created such stark imagery of what inside is "supposed" to look like. Even the word "transparent" I've used above, felt authentic when I typed it, but has created a different image that is being clung onto, now:)
So yeah, language - or rather, the relationship with language and the ideas it creates does a lot of damage.
A note on my relationship with language and the world of words:
As a person with a story, I absolutely love languages, Jon, but at the subjective level, there's some noise because of it. Some time in my teenage, I taught myself to think in words - to even speak out my thoughts at times in solitude, to help improve my linguistic proficiency, particularly in English which was my academic first language and also in my mother-tongue Tamil. This grew to change my pattern of thinking to be in words instead of the obscure, wordless thoughtstuff that was the building block of thoughts. Doing so stretched out my thinking, where I'd hold dearly onto a thought until I "finished" a sentence almost until the punctuating full stop even in my head - in sound, of course, not as a visual sentence.
As a human being, this has made the person, Raam, an articulate man, capable of using the most nuanced words to communicate exactly what he thinks or feels about something. But the obsession with words has become so habituated that, at the subjective level, there's a ceaseless commentary about anything, often in English, but I've practised switching to any language I'm interested in. Switching languages is perhaps the only thing I could do - quietening it or going back to wordless, voiceless, language-less obscure thoughtstuff seems impossible now. I'm not saying it as a complaint, just wanted to share what it's like here.
For a long time on the spiritual journey, I believed that I would have to let go of language to proceed inwards, and that this was a barrier that I'd unnecessarily erected - one that I'd have to knock down at some point and dreaded not being able to. Now I see that silence is not about changing any of this but about actually seeing that silence is there right in the middle of all the noise. If thought-patterns and the habit of thinking happened to turn this way, it did, that's all. It's great with friendships and with writing.
So, yeah, there's this very intimate relationship with words in me, and I'd be extra-fascinated to try and see in what ways language and words have kept the illusion up in me.
I do remember this rephrasing that you suggested:
" Theres every possibility that very uncomfortable sensations could lead to many thoughts appearing about "me" , thus creating an even noisier or louder impression that there is actually a "me" a "sufferer". This illusion might seem convincing for a while "
I try to apply a similar rephrasing of thoughts at times - it doesn't always seem to resonate, but I guess it feels right at times.
Certainly excited to explore the role of words, Jon.
Love,
Raam