If you pay careful attention in the midst of your crises, you will begin to sense a witnessing consciousness, a wise presence inside of you that could be called “the one who knows.” This knowing presence is consciousness itself, your undying spirit, present in every moment of your life, even when it feels far away from you. Even in the toughest times of illness and loss, in your deepest depressions and griefs, underneath even your most catastrophic challenges and fears, the one who knows in you remains calm and clear. It already accepts whatever’s going on. It sees beyond the immediate situation to something much larger. It knows that whatever change has come—no matter how much of a surprise it was to you—was going to happen. It knows that whatever is, Is—whether we accept it or not. The one who knows is even often able to see grim humor in the most difficult situations. And it knows long before we do that the end of our suffering begins when we turn to face our suffering and embrace its truth and healing wisdom.
Loss and betrayal tear open the heart.
Look through this gate for the wisdom that lies there.
What matters now?
What would the wise ones do now?
But how we can find this “one who knows” in the midst of our most overwhelming difficulties? Go to the mirror. Look at your face. You will see someone who looks older than you looked several years ago, though inside you don’t feel any older. This is because it is only your body that has aged. The timeless awareness through which you see your body is the one who knows. Your body is only a temporary vessel for this awareness. It is a temporary and impermanent container for the undying consciousness of the one who knows……Jack Kornfield
we are asked to soften again and again, but tools seem scarce and distant at times…..a little imagination and deep trust can hold us, can allow us to let it be, can melt our resistance…..
There are as many worlds as there are imaginers. Downshore there rests in the restless water a sailboat; one line holds it from leaping away. Little bell, little chain, little this and that, on it, taps and clanks in the wind. I stand and listen. Its bow, built of boards steamed to a sweet curve and join, like a bird’s breast, tugs against the line. What is it it wants to be? Once, in Union, Maine, as we were passing a field, five white birch trees became five white ponies. Their feet shuffled in the ling grass, their white faces shone. This is called: happiness. This is called: stay away from me with your inches, and your savings accounts, and your plums in a jar. Your definitive anything. And if life is so various, so shifting, what could we possibly say of death, that black leaf, that has in it any believable finality?……Mary Oliver
R recognize what is happening
A allow life to be just as it is
I investigate inner experience