Читать книгу Opening the Door: Jan Frazier Teachings On Awakening - Jan Inc. Frazier - Страница 4

Just a door to open, a quiet invitation. Suspect there is more to you. Suspect the kingdom of God is here. You are it.

In the 1960s there was a shaving cream ad on TV in which a woman with a sultry voice said, Take it off. Take it all off. What is naked? What is that, to remove the apparent?

Here, come play in the silence, where the wind is. Did you imagine the wind blew someplace besides the inside of your body? Look on your own works, on the stars, the dew. Feel how life plays inside your vast body. Notice how you cannot find death, however hard you look.

You weren’t prepared for this. You cannot prepare. It comes, it lays out its banquet. You open your mouth: maybe sing, maybe cry out.

What is passion? What is the passion? What is it to be naked? What is it to realize nothing has been left out? To feel the arms of the beloved grabbing you up in rejoicing, and to realize they are your own?

We must be done with misery. It has spent itself down, wrung itself out. It is finished, useless now. Someone said, The world was meant to be free in.

Can’t you sense it? The option of it? That there is option being exercised?

But here, now, here comes the silence, to remind. How partial is the usefulness of words. The truth knows itself from within. The bones know. The ticking heart knows. The connective tissue hums with it.

The earth hums. Do you feel it? Oh, tuning fork — do you feel it?

Do you suspect there is option at play? Do you suspect grandeur in your very self? Let suspicion shock you awake, a bucket of cold water. Shake yourself like a dog. Look around, refreshed. Did you know all along? Notice the absence of surprise. See how familiar you feel to yourself, how it was all known. All home. See how at home you feel. How drained you are of opinion, ambition. How rinsed you are of grudge, regret. Of wishing.

Did you think you were something besides that loon? that fog lying on the distant hill? Are you surprised? What do you think Whitman was talking about in his rapture over the grass?

Where do you stop, and where does the rest of the world begin? There is no rest of the world. Do you have a suspicion of this? Did you think there was error?

God is a patient god. Lucky for us. No clock ticks there. It has been going on forever. It will go on another forever. We play in it, recklessly. Reckless of our majesty.

Fear is food. Eat it, shit it out, be done with it. It never did have anything to do with you. It is bored of our interest in it. It is going away now. One day, they will hear stories about the old world, how it used to be. Before we remembered what we are made of. We are here: this is that old world, where death is dreaded, where war is our idea of a good time. They will tell stories about us, how bit by bit, we shrugged ourselves awake. How we opened our eyes, looked around, and saw for the first time the miraculous world.