PLACE NO FALSE IMAGE BEFORE THE MIND OF GOD
One more blank screen. One more blank mind. One more new day. No, this is wrong, the new can never be one more. The new has never been before, will never be again. So, no 'one more’s' for anything 'new'.
One more unfolding of words. One more attempting to capture the impossible to capture. One more meandering twisting path which carries potential to lead no one to nowhere.
The most delightful of all places which never did exist.
Thought is so meaningful to our lives and simultaneously so pointless. Without it, we could not even know who we are. But with it, we are lost to who we truly are. Without it we could not make our way home. But with it, we have lost our eternal home. Without it, we could never find words to communicate to another. But with it, we have lost the depth of all relationship. With it we are learned and empowered, self-seeking and driven. Without it, we are divine, selfless and love itself.
Thought is words and words have power but words are powerless to the power of none. An empty canvas can take any colour, a canvas employed is a canvas already limited. No matter the beauty captured by the artist’s eye. And some paintings are so beautiful, they can make your heart stop.
But never, your mind.
The human mind is words, and words are the human mind. How poverty stricken is our race, to come to the understanding of life, of the centre of one’s very being, as being nothing other than a stream of words interlaced with bubbling up images? We look at the face of another, and we see a word. And behind this word, these restless images of time rise up, adding further information than the word can carry. For a picture paints a thousand words.
There can be great beauty found in words, pen placed in the right hands. Expressive, emotive, words can convey. But they can never capture what needs be conveyed. Their intention may be strong, but a link of any value is so difficult to forge.
I know of a wise man now gone from this world of over appreciated symbols, a man who travelled this earth for over sixty years, a lifetime, talking words. Words not of wisdom, for wisdom, is not found in words. Wisdom, is found in listening, and to be truly listening, you must be absent of words.
This man spoke from his heart of things of the mind. He spoke of journeying beyond words, to see what mystery might be found. To journey beyond words. A paradox to be certain, for many a man, whose life existence and meaning, itself, is only to be found in words.
His wish was ultimately unfulfilled; his wish had been to bring the lives of all of humanity to an unquenchable joy. As his own, had been lived. But ears could not listen beyond the inner play of words so deafening to ever permit any space for silence. Yet despite this noble task remaining unfulfilled, he carried with him no disappointment. Not a glimmer of despair. He kept on talking, until no words were any longer there. Some asked him, why do you talk? His answer was simple, a question returned, 'why does the bird sing'?
A life of great meaning finds great meaning in its life. Not in seeking a reward or avoiding a punishment which may or may not arise from actions considered, from doing one thing, for the sake of another.
If you saw that life lived by all was life lived always walking in a wrong direction, would you not wish to turn them all around? Or rather, for they themselves to see the wrong direction travelled, and turn around by themselves?
We live on words. And words can have their own beauty. Words have their own life; they breathe their every breath inside of us.
How many words in only one day might you think the totality of humanity talks inwardly? In the area we communally call mind? That restless flow of words and images, and words, are images, how many flow through you every day? Would you like to count? You will be as occupied with numbers as you are now with words.
Life for us, life which is us, are words.
We look to the sky and we see the word 'sky'. We look to the mountain and we see the word 'mountain', and perhaps a name. We look into another’s eyes, and as beautiful as those eyes might be, as piercing a colour of deep blue on the most pleasant of the loveliest, most well proportioned of faces ever to exist, our vision is clouded by a name and many memories of times past and events no longer there. Other than in the inner nature of the human mind. In the inner nature of what we are. Memories. Words, images.
Whispering from the past.
All this is knowledge. And knowledge is words. As useful to our lives as holding such linguistic capacity ultimately is, to work, to talk, to communicate, to drive, to direct, to find one’s way home. This has torn us from the most meaningful and most magnificent of all. And the understanding of this becomes a heart wrenching tragedy for any man blessed or cursed enough to come to witness.
Words fill our minds, occupying every corner, until no space remains, if the mind were a classroom whiteboard, then words have turned the colour white now to black, and if to be considered useful, the colour of the words written on the board must likewise change from black to white.
Words are where we all find meaning, words are powerful. 'Safe and effective', is more assuring than 'experimental and potentially highly dangerous'. 'We are here to build back better', sounds more appealing than 'we care nothing for you and are looking after our own divisive self - interest only'.
But finding meaning in words, we take them at face value. We know, for the words have been spoken. The message has been received. But the words can conceal a hidden selfish intent and so words may hold danger where true meaning holds none. We rest our understanding of life, in words. Until the truth of deception is laid bare, and our sense of security we derived from the words of another’s lies broken in shards on the ground and our hearts lay broken and bleeding. And we wonder why this world has been so deceptive.
When the deception has been ours.
For the deception was the word. And we, were never one thing, other than this, we were always the word. What you do to others, you do to yourself. For the others are words, and your life belongs to the same captured symbology and the same total lack of any true meaning.
Never make the mistake to think I am attacking anyone. Not you, nor the pandemic nor the Great Reset. Never do that. All are blameless as all are guilty, for we have come to find our security where there is none. Each and every one of us. We have come to find our security in words. And these words are destroying us, as all words divide, leading us into deeper illusion, providing meaning where there is none, and turning our backs on the only meaning ever to be found. If one is guilty, all are guilty. If one is blameless, all are so.
Turn around, turn around, turn around, I pray you to. I beg you to. I plead you to. On my knees with tears streaming down my face. Now. Right this very moment. Turn around. Stop travelling. At least, stop travelling. And begin to look around. Look at where you are.
The words of the Church and Temple have captured our minds. We have God and we have belief. The words of the politician have become our security. The words of the media have become our understanding of life. And the words ‘I am’ have become our understanding of what ‘I am’. ‘You are’ applies to another ‘I am’, from an opposing view. Divisions are the ground of all conflict.
Words can carry meaning, but words cannot deliver meaning. For the words travelling through the ether, are met, by another group of words. Two minds in discussion, are two movements of words. Two babbling brooks of inner chatter unheard by one other. Words give rise to identity, and identity gives rise to our sense of 'self'. And our sense of self divides us all, one from another. For words, are divisive. The word 'cloud' separates the white fluffy mass from the word 'sky'. The word 'grass', from the word 'flower', the word 'flower', from the word 'bee'. And so, we have lost the unity behind life living on words as we do.
The flower, could not exist without the bee. 'Flowerbee' could here be a new word marrying both, which may truly be one. Because the bee needs the flower as the flower needs the bee, to even exist. And so the bee might come to be seen as a flying part of the flower. So inextricably linked are these two in nature, they might be considered one. A 'flowerbee'. What a different existence we might come to meet, if our lives were not translating the world in which we exist continually, into words. What a different dimension we might come to find. Might that dimension be love? We live continually dividing the indivisible into smaller and smaller components. enjoying the intricacy we have found by losing sight of the whole.
Continually measuring the infinite is a pointless and stupid task.
If we could, for even a moment, glimpse behind this symbolic wall being eternally built within, we might come to see that all of life and death, is truly one movement. And this vision, may be why that wise man aforementioned talked about what he talked about for over sixty years, like a bird, singing his song. He saw the nature of life, behind words. He sought to turn humanity around. To see where we are as of greater importance than where we have been, or where we may be going.
The unity of life can never be measured in words. For life is measureless and words divide. The unity of life is one. One song. One dance. One mind. The mind of God. God is not found in belief. For beliefs are the nature of words married together into beliefs, beliefs divide, as words divide. And God is a land of no division. God, is not a word. God is life. But not, the word 'life'. Nor the word 'God'.
God is complete, and what is complete, has no division, as words have only this. The complete is the whole, and so the complete is the 'holy'. The divine, the dancer of joy. This dancer, is indivisible from the dance itself.
I do not like the word 'God' much because this word has been so abused. It has come to represent an image within images, and an image is not God. But for whatever reason, I find comfort in using the word here at this moment. It seems right at the moment, when often, it seems so wrong.
God is, and God is love because love is a quality of the complete. Of the whole, and so of the holy. When all is seen as one, the most intense of passions is the ground of this 'one'. It cares, it cares so much, for every little part of itself, for without even that one little part, it would lose its completion and no longer be one. It is the builder of all things, including the source of all life. It is the destroyer of all things, including the death of all life, for it seeks the eternal delight of its creation, and what could ever be more delightful, than ending the old play and beginning the new? And what can end, other than in meeting its death? God is playful, as joy, is playful, and the individual seemingly separate existences it manifests from itself, are its play. This is your life, but not, your life of words.
This is the Flowerbee. As it petals and flies.
Whatever drove our lives into the conceptual? Whatever made us value a translation of life in greater measure than life itself? This has been our fall from grace. Words recognise, and recognition is of the past, and the past is knowledge, and knowledge removed us from Eden. You cannot recognise the new. It has never been before, and so for this quality of creation, there is no word. For the sacred, there is no word. For God, there is no word. For love there is no word, for life there is no word, for death there is no word, and beauty, is not found in the word 'beauty'.
And this is mankind’s eternal puzzle, as old as mankind himself. To awaken to the Garden of life, to live in and as a part of God, not to 'believe' in God, but to dance with and be a part of the joy of creation, to live as the quality of the sacred. A sacred we this day live divided from, on our knees in worship, on our knees to knowledge, on our knees, to words.
Blind to life. Blind to God. Blind to all, but words.
Look to nature. This, is a word for the playful mind of God. Look to your own mind, this is a word for the sleeping lost existence of humanity. Drunk on words. And the two, can never meet.
How can the past meet the present? How can the symbol be breathed into life? How can the living be forged from the dead memories of the past?
Words give us our meaning, our sense of identity. I, am an 'important' man. Others, call me 'excellency'. I am an important word. Not many are gifted the title of 'excellency', or 'highness', but we are all gifted words, we are all identified by a name. And words divide, as names divide and so we are all divided from the only thing of any importance. Life, holds this importance. Words, the descriptors, can never capture that to which they can only point.
Does a signpost hold within itself the streets and buildings of the city? Do the words ‘I love you’ carry the depth of passion I feel for you which stirs my very soul? We, despite what we might think in added words, are not, alive. And this fact is related to all gone and going wrong with our race. This day, and every other day. There is no other day, there is only, this day. And this day is so full of words. And so lacking in any meaning.
That meaning will only be found with the birth of religion. Not the word 'religion', not the continuity of what passes this day as 'religion'. Present for thousands of years having changed the heart of not one single man. But in coming to the true meaning of this word, 'religion', beyond the word. In meeting life without the word. In meeting life, in silence.
We live on a bed of symbols and we live and die as symbols. And so we never live nor die. We live a symbolic life and die a symbolic death. We are held in a captivated repetitive motion of meaningless stupidity. Drunk, on words, as we are. Titles, positions, concepts galore. We are happy indeed to become something in life, this provides to our life meaning, power, domination over the lives of others. 'I am an important man'. Our word is weighted more heavily than theirs. But a word, is a word, is a word. A noise. Letters. And surrounding the noise, patiently waits the deafening sound of infinite silence.
The true place of beauty in life remains eternally unnoticed by all.
And so love, remains forever lost. We have the word. We have lost its destination. Because love is found only in completion, only in God, only on the death of knowledge, only, on the ending of all words. Place no false image before the mind of God. You will see only the image. God, will remain ever obscured from view. For all the words you can conceive of in a lifetime, they will never lead you to the meaning found only in silence. Found only in seeing life as it is. For this to happen, there can be no inner movement of words.
Words recognise and give meaning to where there is none. The meaning of the past is no meaning at all. The past has died. The past is over. Let the past die. The past is the word. The past is knowledge, told in words. let it all fall. Give back to God what belongs to God. If God places no value in the past or future, of what concern is it to you to value these on your travels?
Have you ever longed for something or someone with all your heart? Have you ever felt so passionate for another’s embrace, or for any other desire that you felt you might explode with such inner trembling, an energy running in deep hidden rivers of passionate longing? Has anything or anyone ever brought such undeniable interest to your life? That to live without this thing, or more likely, this person, is to live in eternal incompletion, and to live in eternal incompletion, is to live eternally damned. Better to die, it seems, than to live in such eternal sorrow.
Can you find such a passion for the loss of love in your life? Can you find such a passion, for the loss of your connection to God? To life, to the Universe? The word does not matter, for what lies behind the word, is never related to the word.
Would you give your life for another life? Your life today is this life of words. Would you walk away from this through a dark forest, unknowing of what you may find? Unknowing of what lies beyond?
Listen within, be certain I am no painter of a picture painted which misrepresents the scene. This is what you are, words. You think you have found God? You have found the word God. You think you have love? You have the word love. You think you have life? Your life, is built upon words. You are a collector of maps without ever taking one step forwards, who has imagined they have travelled the world.
Words are the known, the known is knowledge, knowledge removed us from Eden. We ate from the fruit of knowledge of good and evil. And we were removed from the garden of life. We have found our sustenance from this tree. It still grows, and we are still feasting.
And we are still outcasts to this garden of life.
The gate to the Garden of Eden is protected with dual flaming swords, and for good reason. For to pass through this gate you must lay down your life and die. You must die to all you find security in this day. Your beliefs, your desires, your titles, your sense of self-importance, your sense of what you are itself. You must die to your self.
You must give your wealth to the poor and your homes to the homeless, for you walk naked into the arms of death, or you walk not into death at all. All must fall and die at the hands of these flaming swords. So travel light, that your burden of loss may be small. You cannot pass through this gate without meeting death. You must suffer the death of the word, which is the death of what you are this day, to kiss the lips of the eternal.
To kiss the lips of life you must walk in hand in hand with death.
With a smile on your face.
No man can lead you here, as no artist can take you to a mountain painted through brush strokes. And you can never enter either, for where 'you' are, life is not found, and where life is found, 'you' can never be.
Look carefully. At what? At all. At what is and at what is not. Bring the passion to this impossible task as you might bring passion to the arms of a passionate lover. And multiply the passions felt in the most passionate embrace you have ever felt in the arms of any lover by an uncountable number. Find such passion.
For beauty can never exist without such passion.
We are a lost race. And we can never be found until we see where we are. And to understand where we are, we must look around. Stop travelling to destinations pointed to by previous signs which we have not yet been questioned nor arrived at. Perhaps, the direction the pointed in, was wrong. Perhaps, we walk aimlessly.
Begin questioning the value of every sign you carry, which has led us collectively here. Which has led us to who we are. What we are. A collection of words. Memories, and images.
And here, is where we find our life meaning. A meaningless meaning in images, beliefs and words. Valuing the valueless. Ignoring the most valuable.
Over an hour has past now and again this blank screen has become one of many words.
Here, they end.
Hello to all, I am a 60 year old man who has spent the best part of his life studying the teachings of J.Krishnamurti. My name is Henryk. I am rather unimportant, although what I talk about on these pages, has great importance. Particularly today, in this dark world, led by men of infinite wealth, unfortunately without the intelligence to match. My work here stands on the shoulders of that of J.Krishnamurti. Without this man's passion and great life understanding, this website would never have existed. His effect on my own life has been immeasurable. A man of infinite vision and wisdom, who spent over 60 years of his life travelling the world and discussing life and societal problems. Krishnamurti passed away in the 1980s. Anyone interested in the nature of discussion in the content of this site, will likely find great interest in the work of Krishnamurti. Hundreds of videos may be found on YouTube. There is a link above dedicated to his work to which new content is planned to be regularly added. The beauty of truth in life, is that it is identical for each one of us. Truth is the place we all come to meet in unity. And truth belongs to no man. Only pointless opinions, divisive, traditional, educated into and gathered by us, may be claimed as ownership. The change in our world so desperately needed this day, is within us, not external to our lives. All man's actions begin in the area of human thinking, it is this needs understood and brought to revolution. Thanks for taking the time to visit, a few posts are being added to the site weekly at the moment, when I find time. If you would like to support the work here, you can do so from the price of a cup of coffee each month, contributors are invited to online discussions. If you would like to contribute, our Patreon page may be found at the following address: www.patreon.com/rainbow_warriors.