Eternal life is now. We’re surrounded by it, like the fish in the ocean, but we have no notion about it at all. We’re too distracted with this attachment. Temporarily, the world rearranges itself to suit our attachment, so we say, ‘Yeah, great! My team won!’ But hang on; it’ll change; you’ll be depressed tomorrow. Why do we keep doing this?
Do this little exercise for a few minutes. Think of something or someone you are attached to; in other words, something or someone without which or without whom you think you are not going to be happy. It could be your job, your career, your profession, your friend, your money, whatever. And say to this object or person, ‘I really do not need you to be happy. I’m only deluding myself in the belief that without you I will not be happy. But I really don’t need you for my happiness; I can be happy without you. You are not my happiness, you are not my joy.’ If your attachment is a person, he or she is not going to be very happy to hear you say this, but go ahead anyway. You can say it in the secrecy of your heart. In any case, you’ll be making contact with the truth; you’ll be smashing through a fantasy. Happiness is a state of non-illusion, of dropping the illusion.
— Anthony de Mello (via coraxives)
This next scene is one of my favorites and it actually is sort of a reoccurring theme in my movie.
I’m getting dressed and my neighbor walks by my door and knocks.. I open it and he says, “I just wanted to ask you something.. What do you think about atheists?”
I just smile at him. He continues, “Seriously.. I know you have something for me.”
I look down at the floor, furrow my brow a bit and pretend as if I have something super insightful to say. After a while I finally look up and respond “Nothing.”
"You always do this to me man.. What do you mean nothing?"
"I don’t think anything of atheists. I’m too lazy to have an opinion about them." I reply, "But I have a question for you and whenever I hear a question, any question, it’s the first thought that comes to my mind: What exactly is a thought?"
He’s thinking now.
"Since you’re thinking about it do you mind explaining to me how it is that you think thoughts? How do you do it?"
We’re both silent for a while.
"I don’t know." He admits looking extremely perplexed.
"Good.. That’s why I said nothing."
Cut scene. He turns and walks away, somewhat ironically, still in deep thought, but he’ll be back. No matter how many times I tell him “nothing” he doesn’t get deterred. Lol
Man is timid and apologetic. He is no longer upright. He dares not say ‘I think,’ ‘I am,’ but quotes some saint or sage. He is ashamed before the blade of grass or the blowing rose. These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of it’s existence. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in all moments alike. There is no time to it. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
The inquiry [of the aboriginal self] leads us to the source, at once the essence of genius, the essence of virtue, and the essence of life, which we call spontaneity or instinct. We denote this primary wisdom as intuition, whilst all later teachings are tuitions. In that deep force, the last fact behind which analysis cannot go, all things find their common origin. For the sense of being which in calm hours rises, we know not how, in the soul, is not diverse from things, from space, from light, from time, from man, but one with them, and proceedeth obviously from the same source whence their life and being also proceedeth. We first share the life by which things exist, and afterwards see them as appearances in nature, and forget that we have shared their cause.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
That popular fable of the sot who was picked up dead drunk in the street, carried to the duke’s house, washed and dressed and laid in the duke’s bed, and, on his waking, treated with all obsequious ceremony like the duke, and assured that he had been insane, — owes it’s popularity to the fact, that it symbolizes so well the state of man, who is in the world a sort of sot, but now and then wakes up, exercises reason and finds himself a true prince.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson