How Deep Must You Go to Be Truly Free?
You know how John Lennon sings about Real Love? Have you ever wondered what Real Love is? Do you even know what Real is? Real Food? Real Self? Real Attention?
The more you say about what is real the more you dilute it.
Not like some teachers, or writers, or say, Steiner in his endless, barely readable lectures (he warned us himself), who goes on and on about something that could fit on a Post-it: he’s scanning for your capacity for Reality and modifying (downpowering against your buoyancy) to help you lower yourself, to the depths which are just right for you: where you feel free enough, soul enough, to remember your spirit. He is not going to make you cheat, give you a lead weight and span a taught cable along which a trolley can speed you down to 702 feet (unlike the Constant Weight Free-dive of Herbert Nitsch, who set a record, by his own strength, however, with the cautionary note that this comes with plenty of risks; in his case he did not come away unscathed and still suffers from the injuries sustained while trying to set a world-record).
No, a genuine spiritual teacher wil not lend you the assistance of external weight, but advise only to trust your own power and let the gravity of the world you find yourself in pull you down. He will remind you to go only as far as 50% of your diving capacity; afterall one has to ascend again, too!
Never forget that you probably know what you need to know by yourself. You know whether you are born to spear a fish at a 100 feet on just one gulp of air with only a pair of flippers for assistance. You know when you need a tank (to find that black coral). You know there is no remedy for death in the mechanical advantage of contraptions. You know you need to understand yourself as nobody else ever will. And when you know all this, you will also know Real Love.
Knowing all this more often than not takes time.
Have you got the time?
Generally, it rains out of time.
The thunder too slow
The lightning too fast
impeding the ability to see what what is coming next.
And the wind whistles out of tune.
The mists hang too low. The moment when nothing more can be said lasts too long.
How then to find the rhythm of a softly rising morning sun?
Or how to lie silently, in a mundane bed rendered not so humdrum anymore by its reworking by the confounding white-out of desire found raging in a soul you thought your knew (had fallen asleep) but now sings in a shrill and dulcet voice alternately - enough to split your brain?
Question of the Day
How committed to anything Real are you?
Enjoy the musicians who might inspire you to get real about what really matters to you.
