"I've never authored a single thought. As if. Every thought comes from where I know not of. Suddenly just there. Impossibly there, and so spendable, so vital. Manna pure and simple, I pick this sustenance up off the ground-state. We're all wandering Jews, eh?"
Here you are being honest, you don't know where your thoughts come from. This is human creativity at work and it is a wonder! > That's God to me. An overwhelming giving of the earth to inheriting,> meeky me. > > He's not dallying on some distant throne with harping minions flitting> in the billows. > > He's here now -- in my face, my brain, my marrow. He's laughing > inside my atoms using my electrons like whirligigs. <Snip> And here are you saying that you know that "God" is the source of your thoughts? I dig the poetry of it all but as an ontological claim it lacks uh, let's see...it lacks anything beyond a poetic notion. (not that there is anything wrong with that) Here is where it matters. When people claim to "know" that it is "God" who is feeding them thoughts. Perhaps we have a functioning personal mind under our conscious mind that is busy cranking this stuff out rather than a deity, what shall we call this part of our mind...oh I know an unconscious mind! > Each speck in space, each plink, plank and plunk, each twang in the > silence is God's sparking. > > I cannot find non-Godness. What you can't find is your perception without using this filter overlay on your experience, interpreting everything this way. Want some REAL silence? Try actually just experiencing your silence without the belief overlay. Personally I think you are a creative human and I don't need an explanation that your thoughts are a result of any God. It is not that what your are writing isn't good, but I would expect a bit more from the creator of the universe. --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Duveyoung <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > Here's how I experience God. > > A closing of the inner eye. Then WHAM God speaks. > > All thoughts present themselves to my silence and only my silence. My > ego, merely another noise in the brain, is not the recipient, the > witness, the thinker, the blessed. Only my silence can receive a > thought. > > Thoughts, each one of them, are found treasures -- and like a flurry > of cash wind borne along a street, I snatch 'em up even though I have > no pockets. I want to hoard-gobble 'em like a hamster with ballooning > cheeks, but each is so delicious I swallow immediately. To me, the > streaming of thoughts are like having a constant orgasm -- not even > time to take a breath. What a lover God is to keep me brimming full > of ideation. Who here can say otherwise? Who can say, "I author my > thoughts." Or, "I'm on the thought committee, and I know the next > thought that I'm scheduled to have." Or, "Each thought is ego approved > and marketed." > > No one. It's all I can do to just accept the ecstatic flowingness. > > I've never authored a single thought. As if. Every thought comes from > where I know not of. Suddenly just there. Impossibly there, and so > spendable, so vital. Manna pure and simple, I pick this sustenance > up off the ground-state. We're all wandering Jews, eh? > > My soul seems to have won a thought lottery -- I'm rich. I'm > experiencing a tsunami of thinking that just keeps coming into the now > and obviating any need for memory. There's no such thing as the past > when nowness so envelops me. I cannot escape the presence of God's mind. > > In meditation, I've had a silence sandwich. You know, a slice of > silence, meaty thought, a slice of silence, and ego for mayo. > > And yum yum, yum yum, yum, two bits. To savor one bite of that > sandwich can overwhelm the palate with pleasure. > > Yet, most of my time is spent surfing a sea of thinking, noshing at a > banquet of notions, and smelling the scents from a million flowered > field. > > That's God to me. An overwhelming giving of the earth to inheriting, > meeky me. > > He's not dallying on some distant throne with harping minions flitting > in the billows. > > He's here now -- in my face, my brain, my marrow. He's laughing > inside my atoms using my electrons like whirligigs. > > Each speck in space, each plink, plank and plunk, each twang in the > silence is God's sparking. > > I cannot find non-Godness. > > Only my silence is dark enough to make His least glimmer bright. > > Only my silence is bright enough to make His least dot of dark POP! > > And then, suddenly, I see. > > It's not my silence at all. > > Even the silence is given to me. > > Edg >
