Some go off in search of themselves and one day, if they're lucky find that they never needed to go anywhere at all but where they are to find themselves...
What is it to: know yourself?
Is it the character that has been built throughout life?
Well, that can be known after a fashion, you are yourself in your doings after all; I mean, who else would you be?
No, there comes a time when that has to go.
What is left when all has left you is what you will find is you; that.
How does one know thyself?
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Is it the ego, the mind the body?
All these are outward manifestations, things that will change.
Perhaps no one can tell you and you have to know for yourself.
You say you know the child, but the child will one day not be a child.
Could it be the immutable inner heart?
Can a flower know itself? Can a flower know of itself?
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
What is it that knows?
In the Eastern messages there is truth, consciousness and bliss... jai sat chit anand (Indian) truth is the consciousness of bliss; not the mind, that monkey of thought, not the body and all its pains and emotions, not the ideas, past, future, or beliefs that come and go.
Who is the witness?
If we are our heart, then we are feeling beings; but we can feel pain, and is that what we are?
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Are we love?
To paraphrase Rumi: Perhaps it is a matter of taking away all that separates us from love to find who we really are.
We come into this world as who we are, but over time stuff gets added until we no longer know; we've forgotten.
So if we undo all that stuff and get back to as we were when we first came along, then we'll know our self, that intrinsic something that is unique in the desert.
The heart of the matter...
The desert is a square of dust, protracted at the sides, here and there, and probably knows all the answers, and maybe grows roses too, and impossibly as this sounds to most beginners, life can flow faster than this even again, so that you begin knowing yourself from the unknown of yourself in the mustard.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Let me put it this way: you’re the last dance standing on the floor; everyone else has gone home for midnight. And as you stand there alone a little thought comes to you to say: who am I?
And then you think: oh dear god, what am I?
Jumping beans will only take your mind off it for mere moments, and then you will be faced with it again, towards that question of knowing who you really are.
The blind are at the bows directing the passage home, and the language is that of what the blind will not witness but shall endure for all time.
Rivet, rivet.
Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Maybe I'll do a part two tomorrow, or the next day...
Images from Pixabay
