Becoming Fully Human

chain-link-21951321

 

‘Human’ is a process – no longer an animal, no longer a god.

Our appearance in human form is a tiny part of the whole cosmic process, so if we cease to interfere with that process, the ‘means whereby,’ we will be able to move on to the next stage of our spiritual perfection!

We are beings suspended between Heaven and Earth, between ignorance and knowledge, between light and darkness.

Animals are ‘beings.’ Humans are ‘becoming.’ We are yet incomplete, a new species. Only 10% of our potential has been realized.

tiny-baby-1

 

We had our chance to be fully-conscious gods of limitless power early on in our evolution, but we chose the cerebral way. We allowed the intellectual mind to interfere and create its own delusional reality known as samsara (a world of suffering and loss, of beginnings and ends).

This has set us back to a position where we are 100% evolved physically, but for the majority of us, only 10% of our potential has been realized. This incongruence creates anxiety, anger and struggle which leads to destruction and discontent.

 

dna-molecule-research-mixed-media-73799451

 

The Earth and its species have evolved over a 4.5 billion year period: but human DNA is only 200,000 years old at the most. At all costs, we must not be distracted from our precious and special human consciousness because that is our natural process, our earthly way to become and our mission!

We are, so let us simply be!

Nothing more!

monument-valley-panorama-11977418

 

Monument Valley straddling the states of Arizona and Utah in the United States of America, serenely cradles beautiful upthrusts from the Earth’s mantel which are 570 million years old! Their process continues on! No interference from the human mind. Such an inspiration to cease interfering!

Our planet and its nature are already perfect.

 

turtle

 

Images courtesy of megapixyl.com, Mariko Kinoshita and Linden Thorp.

divine-thread-logo

Slither out of the dead skin of your past and future

Your past and yourfuture are like unwanted skin!  Rub them away with sharp awareness and slither into reality.  No past = no karma! 

Ego and persona with all their limitations are simply grooves etched by repetition and reaction into the mind  

so that our daily lives become like a laser that habitually falls into the groove and makes it ever deeper.

Awareness is the only virtue.  It is your true power so embody it.

Prowl with every hair into each moment of each waking interval in search of its very centre.

1

Such awareness is a narrow bridge leading you out of the groove of necessity you have created into your unbounded True Nature, your absolute sincere heart.

Here and now you mirror each moment exactly as it is, and by doing so, you act and you laugh with relief.

Nothing else is needed.

                         

images courtesy of Mariko Kinoshita, Linden Thorp and megapixyl.com

1

Holding the Earth

monument-valley-panorama-14943359

 

I feel so privileged to be here at Monument Valley staying in a Navajo Hotel called ‘The View.’ These ‘monuments-butte,’ free-standing rock formations, appeared about 570 million years ago. This was once the ocean floor and the mantle of the Earth uplifted in these strange forms known as ‘The Mittens’ to crack it. Later the ocean subsided west during the shifting of the tectonic plates: the resultant mud became sandstone and limestone.

the-thumb-monument-in-monument-valley-arizona-4951829

 

Such an ancient scenario to suddenly arrive in, but arriving creates such a connection with my Earth! I am One with it! I am sandstone and limestone: the desert paints me in rainbow colours against the gigantic Moon.

 

monument-valley-panorama-11977418

This is my Earth! I am inspired to become its custodian once more, to hold it and look upon it with complete awe! Only putting aside the synthetic reality created by my limited mind will allow this to be.

divine-thread-logo
Images by Linden Thorp.

Avoid desires to be touched by the divine.

Bible Verse Jesus.jpg

It is our countless nagging desires that keep us separated from happiness, from the great truth. But there are 2 principal desires: the first is to avoid death; the second is to avoid living fully.

The intellectual mind conjures up such desires as a distraction from the free flow of our energy.  Our divine origins have led us to the manifestation of our unique energy in the world of form, and from that moment on we must undergo a huge battery of tests until the for we are tenants in deteriorates and vanishes like dust in the air.   The tests are mostly about attachment.

human potentail 1

Our energy flows.  It must do because the prime reason for the existence of energy is movement. But we have bounded that energy in a human form and we must carry the weight of thousands of years of conditioning, of the desires of our nation, our community, our family and our ancestors. Most people under such weight abdicate responsibility for their energy, and even forget it completely.

Can we sustain the weight while also keeping the flow of our energy and life force moving.  Or will we become static and passive, and start to live a lie, ignoring our most basic energic urges?

If we can detach form the forms and material temptations, and allow our selves to flow naturally, then there are no fears, no negativities.  Just a vital pulsing river of all life.  This is the glory of our human consciousness.

Energy is the only thing we possess.  It is dynamic is we allow it to be.

divine-thread-logo

images courtesy of megapixyi.com

True Nature: the Beginning

 

This new site – ‘TRUE NATURE: Our Supreme Inheritance’ – is dedicated to writing and perfecting a book with the same title. Another way of saying this is that I am adopting a currently very fashionable approach to writing and publishing which is to write a book in short episodes published live on the internet. 

I like this idea very much because I often get lonely and lose objectivity if I am working on a large project with little feedback over a long period. I love the prospect of having my followers, my audience, accompanying me and making me notice flaws or inconsistencies in what I’m writing as I go along.

I also love being challenged about my ideas and way of seeing human existence, so I’m really hoping you will feel free to post questions or comments. Please freely contact me and interact in this place of reflection.

Of course, the scheme and concepts for this book have been well-planned so it’s not as if I’m writing completely off the cuff. However, I anticipate that as I write, as usually happens, I will be moved in directions completely different to what I had planned once the narrative comes tumbling out of me.

So, getting this book out will be exactly like taking a long journey. There may be unexpected adventures or changes in route, but basically I think I know where we will end up.

I’ve finished packing and got all my travel accessories ready. Above me is the rocket ship we’re going to travel in! Hope you’re ready for a rocket-ship ride? Perhaps not what you had in mind.

I am also looking forward to talking directly to you, to wooing you with my view of the world. What is my motivation, I can hear you asking? Well, I am a writer/creator of many different things, but the crucial thing about my passion for the written word and for the beautiful language of English, is the challenge to touch my readers.

And it so happens that I am someone who has always had a fascination for the spiritual, the mystical, and belief in the basic goodness of human beings even though they often behave badly. That’s another thing I’m curious about. Why do people behave so badly sometimes and get so scared of life, and death? And after a lifetime of questing and tireless spiritual training, I think I’ve got some ideas about that.

So, basically I’m hoping that you can join me a couple of times a week for the next few months so I can reveal my insights to you in short easy-to-read episodes full of images, as well as get your feedback, good or bad! If you miss a visit, or are lacking in time to read me, I promise to make a little summary of the points I have made so you can easily catch up. I will put them in a special place so you can easily see them, and call them ‘travel notes.’

I like to use images to make my points clearer and to break up the text a little, but it is my intention not to clutter up this site with advertisements for other sites or works in process. I hope this TRUE NATURE site will be like a sacred corner in our lives – quiet and peaceful, a place where you can retreat from the gravitational force of life out in life. If I could, I would light a candle and burn some fragrant incense there, and open the window a crack so that the air flows nicely and we can feel the closeness of the universe and see my favourite tree and Moon plant in the garden.

So, I’ll get started and summarize what’s going to happen with each episode. You’ll soon get the swing of it. There are 5 episodes so far, so please come and visit me. Episode 1 asks, “What exactly is true nature?”

divine-thread-logo

Desirelessness: walking away from ‘civilization.’

I briefly lived with a tribe of Australian native people 11 hours by land cruiser south of Ayer’s Rock.  Our group went to help them to move deeper into the scorching interior of Australia in order to return to ‘traditional desert life.’  Their tribal leader, Ninija, had decided that the aging and young of her people should return to their ‘Lands,’ turning away completely form white-fella comforts and handouts.

During this adventure, my view of human life completely changed.  

The settlement we left consisted of primitive prefabricated housing and an air strip.  But not one member of the tribe lived inside the housing. Instead, they used them as a dumping ground for the heaps of material goods donated to them from white-fella do-gooders.  

White Australians have always wanted to ‘civilize’ these desert people, to make them respectable, useful to their average urban ways.

There is no such thing as a ‘gift’ to the desert dwellers and not one of the variety of items they receive is useful to their desert life: nylon dresses, leather shoes, plastic toys, kitchen equipment, tools made of metal.  They accept them and then quickly let them pass through their fingers. They are soon added to the tall heaps of detritus inside their unsuitable housing.

The day we left the settlement in our land cruisers loaded with prefabricated shade shelters to erect as the tribe walked in temperatures that most humans could never survive, Ninija and her people walked naked and barefoot.They carryied nothing except their few custom-made possessions to negotiate the harsh Lands and climate: 

Dilly bags woven from Mangrove string for their totemic badges; Wood and Grass carrying bowls (coolamon) sported on their heads, shoulders or against their bellies; custom-made digging sticks slung across their backs from ornate Kangaroo straps; beautifully crafted boomerangs for hunting; and perfectly cylindrical Hollow Log coffins containing the precious bones of their deceased.

As they slowly walked, the sheen of their black skins caught the strong sunlight and their blond and red topknots of wild hair blended in with the iron-rich ochre of the desert floor. They were joined occasionally by competing kangaroos on one side, and a massive flock of high Emus, great scratching Bird of the Lands, on the other.

They were walking away from ‘civilization,’ – known to them as ‘The Lands of Frowns and Fears,’ away from ‘safety.’ They had neither compass nor water flask.  Walkign away from health care and education; away from the culture of ‘the thinking‘ stuffed with words and ideas.  

Our ‘modern’ mobilized team followed them at some distance, kitted out in snake boots, fly-nets, clinging to our ‘possessions’ stashed away in brightly coloured waterproof rucksacks and pouches. We were highly protected by metal and glass, and cooled by powerful air-conditioning.

I have learned from these genuine custodians of the earth, that a desireless state is a truly pure and happy state.  It is ‘now’ and ‘here.’  Whereas, the future is a mirage and the past is dead. 

I have learned that time itself does not move because it is only a crude device, another delusion; instead, the only movement is of our minds

When our desires are frustrated, all of our negative emotions are generated because we cannot get our way.  In complete contrast, not having any single desire is contentment, no craving, no worries or attachments. Naked and without possessions, we can blend into the many natural realities of the universe

All desires are a mirage or like the horizon: we can never reach them because they are imaginary, a hallucination, delusional. And yet, we persist in running after such pots of gold from the desire to possess them, to drag them like magpies into our nests.

A state without desires is purity itself. If we allow them to ebb away then we do not need to reach out to gods and deities for benefits or protections

If we clear the bridge of the mind of such clutter, then we can walk straight out in the vast field of consciousness and awareness. There we can embody the divine, our original state.

Without worldly desires and clutter, we naturally embody the divine. This is our true human mission. 

Images courtesy of megapixl, etc: all licenses at lindenthorp@gmail.com

The story of Ninija and my adventures has been written as a novel called ‘Easy-Happy-Sexy: on the Twelfth Day.’ If you want to read more about desirelessness, please visit: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UUSPLYM or watch the video trailer at: https://youtu.be/xCZ3FMGc0bs

Two Angels

 

%e6%9b%bc%e8%8d%bc%e7%be%85%e4%bf%ae%e6%ad%a3

Dawn is an eminently suitable time for angels to leave the down of quilt and pillow, to slip away from the smooth cotton snug, to move further than just turning over.  A loving observer said that your dark red eyelids showed thousands of glow-worm lights as they flickered.  Your luminous clavicle bones trembled, widening, and your swan neck grew long.

The pale sheet bandaged around your breasts slipped allowing dark, mystic nipples oratory and your spine became a shifting spire making scarecrows beneath the sheet.  Several kisses were captive on your argent forehead, but your eyelids could not be caught.

Your keeper told you that you had had a fit, convulsion, apoplexy, petit mal, grande mal.  Gave you the precise time and duration, the clinical description, of your episode.  Stopwatch.  Jotting down notes.  A part-time biologist. You told me, toying with a description like un-relished oysters or snails, and I knew.

“I move in and out of consciousness.  It is timeless.  I am ashamed.”

As a dark-haired angel child you were never alone for the legion Sistine blue butterflies which lived in the orbs of your huge blue eyes may carry you off somewhere at any moment.  Your father held on hard to you when you blinked and walked with you into sleep until the butterfly wings were paired and still beneath the surface of your eye-lid lakes of heliotrope. Then, pale with watching, he would imagine your sleep, never knowing that your head was filled with moon-crazed creatures.

When you heard him pad away with worried steps, you would get up to let them out of the skylight in the hallway, listening for the moon.  As they dotted up into the stars, you compared the constellation in your head with that beyond the glass.

3a0d9fd4-ac13-44d8-82a3-1183d7090482_post

Your life was filled with trees which you collected behind your eyes.  Eventually you had enough to plant out the pattern of stars in your head.  This tree chart which you often looked at was designed to be a forest of sound.  The breeze would rustle through many different species of leaves, and the wind would resound around the carefully positioned trunks, the excited air silvering through uncountable spruce needles, cymbaling birch leaves, tinkling the berries of rowan and holly. 

You would stare up from the ground looking through thin clouds and tree vapour, your eyes dangling azure fruit on very long stems, or sometimes a pair of errant bluebells in late summer.

Later, you would plant out your own tree garden to make a map of the world.  Moscow. Budapest. Delhi, all with the appropriate tree.  You were not daring enough to use the constellations of your childhood, but there is still time for that.

The huge shiny Bechstein piano took charge of most of your young years.  It was very difficult to get you away from its big body; your dextrous fingers constantly summoning sounds from the slim, smooth keys.  They were your white friends who carried around younger black siblings which you tolerated.

%e7%a0%82%e6%bc%a0%e3%81%ae%e8%8f%af%e3%80%80%e4%bf%ae%e6%ad%a3

Your intent eyes stained the manuscript with their blueness because you read on and on, hour after hour. And when your eyes began to flicker, your fingers learned to stay still while your mind extemporized blissful forays into your sound garden.  Then your fingers would go on as if nothing had happened.

Sometimes you would sit under the piano and flicker the pink and blue, and your mind would fly up into the dark vault of strings.  You would lie with your disheveled head on the sustaining pedal so that the inter-stellar hum would go on forever, or until some meddler came and insisted that you climb up on the huge leather stool with its buttoned hills and valleys to play something soothing. 

As soon as you were alone again you would climb down and yelp up into the strings, hungry for harmonics, marveling at the coarse copper of the bass notes, the triplets of wire for the treble.

You.  A listening creature.  A honeycomb of receptive cavities.  A gentle twinkle of star.  Breathing. Flickering the minute muscle screws of the membrane in your ear, tightening or loosening the skins as you pleased. Later, they wanted you to read and write about sound.  Paragraphs.  Letters.  Ruled pages.  Wanted you to turn sounds into history, morality, even to make politics out of it. 

You left the university in haste, going alone, unsafe, to flicker in the bottom of the domes of Florence.  Frescos were your cushions and clouds into which you bedded.  Your eyes always played the part of angels, sexless, weightless, circling close around the Madonnas, your fingers deftly activating spheres of coloured sound.

You left your first love behind.  A Rasputin who draped his gigantic beard across your white belly and shared his opium pipe with you.  He had travelled a little way into your world by this means but he hadn’t learned listening and how talk was only the voice playing with shadows.

You have learned to flicker at your will now, standing in the well of the Duomo, flying up into your dreams, or diving into memories if you desired. But always preferring the dark softness of Now, your senses working at full pelt.

cosmic-transformation

Then one day you thought that the coloured patterns and pitch of your messages were received. 

Far across the great dark dome in which you had been always alone, aware only of your trees and of walking again and again through huge mirrors, suddenly you saw other flickering, glistening eyes.  They were blue but darker.  Beneath the eyes, long dark fingers were operating vessels of sound, only some of which you recognized.  Above, a head was slightly bowed, intent, listening unmistaken and beautifully.

There were wisps and sibilances of a struggle for breath as the two beings realized they were no longer alone.  Their throats became blocked, crammed with sapphire spangles of tears of joy.  Only a thin trickle of air passed through which prompted strange intermittent sounds.  Breath-speech.

There were many diversions through mirrors before the two beings approached each other.  In time they held each other’s faces in long lit fingers.  Their neat hair became disheveled, blurred, and their commingled sounds were sustained into eternity.  They spluttered out colours from the octaves of their spines through the tiny trap-doors in their porcelain throats.

Dawn was an eminently suitable time for the commingling of two angels.

cosmos

images courtesy of Megapixyl.com and Mariko Kinoshita