Saturday, August 23, 2014

This format is a strange one.  It's best for literary critique, for capturing some of the thoughts one, like Shakespeare, has, the weedy fruits of the bitching and moaning that come from tilling the earth.

Doing yoga one comes to the idea that within us, up centered in our heads around the third eye chakra, there is a version of the Planet Earth, much like the photo the astronauts took looking back through a little cabin window.  There may even be two poles on it, these being cold regions.  A thought, like us, inhabits a tiny dot on its surface, a particular place.  And yet, consciousness is everywhere at once.  The creative mode offers a way of being kind to the thing, a way of letting nature have its balance, for good things to come along.  Neither give, or put, violence into it, and neither accept violence from it.  That would be to misunderstand it, this small magic version of the Planet Earth, complete with oceans, sea shores, mountains and trees, within.  (Wine is permitted, as basically, it's natural, a thing of a growing season.  Like any fruit, it represents the planet.)

To allow violence into the system, we've heard this many times, perpetuates it;  to release it, which is a hard process, let's it go.  That's a hard lesson to learn, one that takes the heights of human wisdom, but it makes sense.

Fame, never seek it.  Be a simple teacher, without violence or excessive popularity.  Be the Earth within.

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