In The Case of “Stupid”

“All rise,” said the bailiff in a booming voice–there was a loud shuffle of feet as members of the courtoom stood. The bailiff continued: “Court is now in session. The honourable Judge Mary Bullwinkle is presiding.”

The judge ascended the two steps to the raised platform and assumed her position behind the bench.

Mr. Travolta, the attorney for the defense, raised his hand.

“Something on your mind?” said Judge Bullwinkle, with a frown.

“Yes,” your Honour, “may I approach the bench?”

“Only if you do a funny walk.”

Without batting an eye, Mr. Travolta stepped out from behind his desk, did a slide step right, a scoot to the left, and a two-step goose step. After a brief moonwalk, he was there–in front of the bench. Ms. Ciriello, the Crown Prosecutor, sedately stepped forward and joined him.

“Nice work, Travolta,” said Judge Bullwinkle as she leaned forward. “You realize this is highly irregular. We haven’t even begun.”

“Yes, your Honour, I’m well aware; but I believe I can supply evidence that can end this trial before it even begins.”

“Hmph, we’ll see about that,” muttered Ms. Ciriello.

While the members of the court remained standing, the two attorneys conferred in whispers with the judge. Finally Judge Bullwinkle gave a nod and motioned for the bailiff to approach the bench. After he listened to her instructions, he nodded assent and turned around to face the members of the court.

When the attorneys were standing behind their respective desks, the bailiff nervously said, “All of you may now be seated–ahem, except the stupid ones.”

A great kerfuffle erupted. The members of the court sat, stood up again, turned right and left, and yo-yoed between standing or seated positions.

“Do I look stupid?” one elderly woman beseechingly asked the person next to her. “Not particularly,” came the reply.

“I got a “C” once in Home Ed. Does that count?” asked another lady.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” exclaimed a man behind her. “Letters don’t count–numbers do!”

“I’ve never been good with directions,” said one woman nervously. “I got lost twice coming here!”

“I don’t know a great deal about cooking,” stated one man with a glum expression. “I’ve been eating bacon and eggs for years–don’t know how to cook anything else.”

“I flunked History and Geography in high school,” said a young woman.

“My ten-year-old son had to solve my Rubik’s Cube for me,” stated a mother, close to weeping.

“I once purchased polyester slacks,” blurted another lady. “Honestly, I thought they were cotton!”

“I’ve been married six times,” said one lady. “Does that make me stupid?”

“Of course not!” exclaimed the man to her right. “I’m on my seventh–practice, my dear, practice!”

The see-saw of the members of the court seemed unstoppable. With a stern expression, Judge Bullwinkle finally reached for her gavel and slammed it down hard. “Order!” she exclaimed. “All of you–sit down, now!”

Mr. Travolta adjusted his tie. “May I, your Honor?,” he asked with a wave of his hand.

“I wish that you would,” replied Judge Bullwinkle, “since you’re the cause of this mess.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began.

Suddenly the doors at the back of the courtroom flung open as Jack Nicholson burst into the room and snapped off his trademark sunglasses. After positioning himself mid aisle, he shook a scowl onto his face and bellowed, “You can’t handle the truth!”

“C’mon, Jack, ” said Mr. Travolta, “is this really necessary?”

“Not at all,’ said Jack, grinning nonchalantly. “A guy named Art Russell asked me to do a walk-on.” He then saluted the court, snapped his heels together, and marched from the courtroom.

Mr. Travolta rolled his eyes at the court reporter and said, “Now, where was I?”

The reporter carefully scanned her computer and said, “yada, yada, yada.”

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Travolta, “thank you. I assert that my client, Mr. Dimwatt, has been unjustly accused of “Gross Stupidity” and that all charges against him should be dropped immediately! We’ve just had proof–right here, in this very courtroom–that even you fine folks can’t determine if you’re stupid unless you compare yourselves against someone else. Humans have this insane habit of judging themselves by appearance and performance. It’s nonsense! Isn’t it true that each and every one of us has strengths and weaknesses? Aren’t all of us gifted in our own ways? I’ll tell you what’s really stupid, folks:

Trying to be like everyone else!

Be yourself, shine!

We’re meant to share our unique gifts for the common good.

I strongly urge you–in fact, I beg of you–to find Mr. Dimwatt NOT GUILTY, on all counts! Finally, Mr. Travolta spun around to face Judge Bullwinkle and spiked his best Saturday Night Fever impression. He then bowed and said, “Your Honour, I rest my case.”

Given a few moments to reflect upon the case (and the secret knowledge that she had flunked the Bar Exam twice, and always been a Jack Nicholson fan), Judge Bullwinkle snapped down her gavel and proclaimed, “Case dismissed! Mr. Dimwatt is free to go.”

***

Believe it or not, there’s actually a point to the story: The competitive mindset of humankind is the cause of great suffering and misery. If we desire to express our greatest potential, we must learn to accentuate what’s positive and embrace our innate creativity. We must cast aside our habit of judging ourselves against the appearance and performance of so-called others. Each of us is a miracle, with unique talents and intrinsic value. Isn’t it time that we learned to love ourselves…just…as…we…are?

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

P.S. Please share this article if you enjoyed it. If you’d like to view my latest book (This Taste of Flesh and Bones), press here. My YouTube videos can be found at Think2wice@I-Am-Aware. May the content of either or both help you along your spiritual journey. “Thank You” & “Note to Publishers” 🙏🏻🧡

Bye, Bye, Ego–Hello “Videhi”

For many long years, I believed (as you may still believe of yourself) that I was the body-mind, aka “person.” It would have seemed insane to deny the apparent but erroneous conclusion. Thus, if Art’s body was physically satisfied and his mind mentally stable, “i” was content and happy. If such was not the case, Art used distraction, deliberate focus, and self-help books to rectify the situation. But here’s the rub, of which you’re probably well aware: At some point after circumstances slide to the polar opposite of pain and suffering (pain free happiness), the forces of this earthly realm, which are always in play, invariably slide the person back into challenging situations. Such is the human predicament.

Although none of us would choose suffering as a first (or last) choice as a method to “wise up,” it does serve a useful purpose. As I’ve mentioned previously, suffering reminds us that we have strayed too far from the Truth of our Being and need to change our ways. The degree of our suffering will be different for each of us; for although we are one in Essence, we are unique in character and form. Problems are relative to the person having them. We might view suffering as a tireless loving parent. “Be careful,” suffering shouts, “you’ll get burned if you touch the hot stove!” And time and again, we reach for the hot stove. Is there a way to avoid such needless suffering?

Yes! The solution (which is seemingly insane, yet paradoxically beautiful) occurs when we transcend the perspective of the person and recognize our essential nature. We discover the Truth: That we are in the world, but not of it. Problems are inherent to the body-mind perspective because the person is a creation of mind and, therefore, unstable. One minute, the person is happy; the next minute sad. To overcome suffering, we must realize that the body-mind is not who we are; it’s a constume that’s worn during this incarnation.

Let’s now investigate the Marathi term videhi from the title of this article, in the hope of gleaning more understanding. I was unfamiliar with the word until I noticed it in a book entitled Amrut Laya, The Stateless State by Shri Sadguru Siddharameshwar. In the book, he shared the account of a king who sought a guru to help him recognize his essential nature beyond name and form. The king eventually did; and thereafter the king was referred to as a videhi, meaning “he without a body.” From an online Marathi-English dictionary, we find the following definition: 1. Disembodied, released from the body. 2. Weaned from bodily and earthly enjoyments and pursuits. Please don’t be alarmed by the term disembodied; it’s not as ghoulish as it may seem. Such only means that you realize–here and now–that you’re not the body-mind. You know that you can’t possibly be who you think yourself to be.

Truth: You are Consciousness, Itself–an immortal Being, beyond this place called Earth. Your true Self is of the same quality and nature as that of God, only varying in degree. Your entire life story is but a divine play of God. To realize this directly, I earnestly suggest that you enter the stillness of meditation on a daily basis; for it’s in the placeless place beyond the mind that you will discover that, indeed, you are now–and always have been–a videhi. Awareness is commonly assumed to arise due to body-mind functions; but such has never been proven by science, and it never will be. The Truth is that the body-mind arises due to Consciousness; not the other way around. Bye, bye, ego. Please take your suffering with you.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Tree House Talk

One might naturally assume that with the last name of Biggley, Hector would have been saddled with a few extra pounds; but such was not the case. He was quite thin, despite having an appetite that easily convinced him to clean his plate at every meal. On the other hand, Ronny Rail, was on the heavy side, despite being force-fed leafy greens by his parents. Such is life. The boys, who were ten and nine respectively, had been best friends for five whole years. On this day, they were sitting in their shared tree house, talking about life. Topics such as smoking, stealing, and doing drugs had already been discussed and unanimously voted down; and the subject of dating girls wasn’t yet on the agenda.

“My mom is a big fan of somethin’ called the Law of Attraction,” blurted Hector. He opened a small bag of salt and vinegar chips and began to munch.

“What’s that?” asked Ronny. He dug into his coat pocket and removed the tupperware container with carrot sticks that his dad had packed for him.

“She says that it’s a spiritual law; that what we send out as thoughts comes back to us, kinda like a boomerang.”

Ronny’s mind immediately dashed off to the time when he and Johnny Brewer had gone to a playground with Johnny’s new birthday boomerang. They’d thrown that thing for hours, but couldn’t get it to come back. “Carrot stick?” Ronny said temptingly, as he held out the Tupperware container.

“Nah, thanks, though,” said Hector as he continued to munch his chips.

To Ronny, Hector’s response seemed to disprove this whole thing about the Law of Attraction. He took a bite of a carrot and said, “What else did she say?”

“She said a lot,” said Hector. “She said that the Universe was always watching–that it knew everything. She said that when you gave something, you had to offer sincerely or the offer was more like bartering.”

“Bartering?”

“Yeah, you know. That’s when you offer something but you’re really thinking about getting instead of giving.”

Ronnie’s adam’s apple bobbled and his eyebrows raised by their own volition. “You don’t say,” he said. Point noted, he filed it away in his young mind. “She tell you anything else?”

“She said the law of attraction really works–that it was how she’d turned our home business into a success. She tol’ me that she visualized every day, just for a few minutes.

“What’s that?” asked Ronny.

“You know. It’s when you imagine what you really want. You picture it as already having it in your mind.”

Again, Ronnie’s mind darted off to the image of the chips, the bag of which was now crumpled on the tree house floor. “Maybe next time I’ll focus more strongly,” he thought.

“Mom tol’ me that when we think positively, send out good feelings to the Universe, and are kind to people, it’s a lot more likely that we’ll get that kind of treatment back. She said we should be nice to everyone.”

“Everyone?” said Ronny.

“Yup, everyone,” replied Hector.

“You don’t think that means we even have to be nice to our little sisters?”

Hector paused for a moment, giving the question its full due. “Nah,” he said, with a shake of his head. “That’s different.”

“Whew,” said Ronny; and with the subject settled, the boys descended the tree house ladder and headed home.

***

One of the verses that sums up this spiritual law is found in Galatians 6:7: “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” The verse is intended as good advice, to help us improve the quality of our lives. What do you think, folks, worth a sincere try?

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Beyond Appearances

The conversation, which had begun pleasantly enough with idle chit-chat about the weather, sports, and the price of fuel, was morphing into ugliness right in front of Walt’s eyes. The tow truck driver, “Mike” by the name tag stitched to his coveralls, seemed oblivious to the pain he was inflicting. Had it not been pouring rain, and his Volkswagen Rabbit not been hooked to the winch, Walt would have told Mike to stop the truck and gotten out. Non responsiveness wasn’t working, either; it only seemed to fuel Mike’s pressing desire to talk. His hatred seemed boundless as he spewed forth racial slurs, epithets, and insults upon anyone who he deemed deserving.

Onward they travelled westward, jostling in the truck. The windshield wipers obliged with clichéd wump-wump as they beat back the rain. The town in which Walt lived, and the dealership at which they would drop off his car, was only a few minutes away. Walt mouthed a silent “thank you” that he had learned long ago (during a lengthy learning curve) that to engage in verbal battle only risked losing the war. Years prior, he would have foolishly stood toe to toe with such a judging character and, thereby, ignorantly proclaimed himself as judge and jury also. No, not this time. He would be a good soldier and stand down for the rest of this ride.

Not soon enough, they arrived at the dealership. Mike proudly exited the cab; and Walt, as though on automatic pilot, stepped down from the cab and watched as Mike unhooked his car. His only subtle retribution was to refuse to bite the bait of Mike’s hint that “for a few bucks” he could do him a favour by breaking company rules and taxi him home from the closed dealership. “No, thanks,” Walt said, “the walk will do me good.”

“Have it your way,” Mike said, with a toss of his head. Walt watched as the tow truck sped away, and then slung his small backpack over his shoulder and began to walk.

***

At home, Walt immediately changed out of his soggy clothes and gave thanks that the evening was drawing to a close. Still, the events of the evening ride in the tow truck lingered. He realized that persons such as Mike were actually full of self loathing. But what did he know beyond assumptions of Mike’s background? Had he been exposed to such abuse, or even battery, when a child, or told that he was worthless? How had he become filled with such hatred of others? Walt knew that to give love, you must first have it to give. Mike hadn’t expressed anything that even remotely resembled love.

Walt climbed into bed and shut out the light on the bedside table; but he soon realized that sleep was playing hide and seek with him; and no matter how much he tossed and turned, he just couldn’t find it. As with all matters that bothered him, especially those labelled “don’t-know-what to-do,” Walt surrendered the troubling issue to his divine Creator. He followed his instincts and quietly mouthed the following words:

Dear God,

Please help me to see with Your understanding;

To look beyond this world of appearance

And be a conduit of Your wisdom.

Oh, and please look after Mike.

Amen.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Beyond “Mice and Men”

John Steinbeck, who is one of my favourite authors, won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1962. His novella entitled Of Mice and Men would undoubtedly be considered one of John Steinbeck’s literary gems. Although shorter than some of his other masterpieces, which include Grapes of Wrath and East of Eden, it is on par with their greatness. This morning, I was struck by an epiphany, which I believe may be at least part of what dear Mr. Steinbeck desired to share with the reader. The revelation relates to the subject matter of my blog and my passion for sharing knowledge related to our higher nature. For those who may not be familiar with his novella, the plot is summarized as follows:

***

The protagonists of the novella, which is set in Soledad, California during The Great Depression, are George Milton and Lennie Small. George is an intelligent man and plays the role of a brotherly figure to Lennie, who is big, strong, and mentally challenged. They both work as migrant farm labourers whenever opportunity presents. We first meet them in a secluded setting down by a river. Lennie has convinced George to retell the details of their dream to one day own a little place which they can call home.

The following day, they begin work on a nearby ranch. As usual, George guides Lennie forward, and all goes well for a while. Key characters are introduced, including the bosses’ son, Curley, and his wife. As the plot unfolds, we’re given a glimpse the characters’ underlying hopes, fears, and dreams. It’s also revealed that Lennie enjoys petting mice, which he often likes to keep in his pocket. At one point, George discovers that Lennie has accidentally killed another mouse; an issue about which he has previously warned him. Within a few days, Lennie accidentally kills a puppy he’s been given, which foreshadows more drama to come.

The suspense builds towards climax when Lennie accidentally kills Curley’s flirtatious wife by breaking her neck. He’s clearly incapable of controlling his inherent nature. When her body is discovered, several of the farm workers form a lynch mob and search for George and Lennie, who have fled the ranch and sought refuge back at the secluded location by the river. The book ends with George mercifully shooting his friend before the approaching lynch mob have a chance to hang him.

***

Although the specific details relating to characters and goals differ from ours, are the general ones really that dissimilar? Don’t all of us desire to find our place in the sun and feel content and at peace? However, all of our hopes and dreams–even if one day achieved–will eventually pass away. To the masses, this may seem tragic; but such will appear particularly so if we’re deeply attached to the person, which is our false identity. Buddha referred to the human condition as dukkha, which basically means suffering or frustration. Jesus endured persecution by the ignorant masses in an effort to reveal to us our true nature. Must we die, as did the helpless mouse and puppy? Human incarnation is a precious gift; for it provides a unique opportunity to recognize our essential nature. Unfortunately, such is often squandered by the masses. Is there an escape from such a seemingly tragic predicament? Yes.

The solution is to discover (re-cognize, know again) the true Self that transcends the “person,” which is actually illusory. We are so much more than body-minds. Discovering Truth requires that we become earnestly curious about our essential nature. In a strange paradox, we discover What–not who–we are by shedding the layers of the false self. Our true Self is eternal, immortal, and irreducible. And that, my dear friends, is a glorious non-end worth realizing before your character’s life draws to a conclusion. Here and now is a great place to begin.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

A Calling To Be True

There was a time when Suzanne, now forty-nine, had conned herself so well that she forgot she was faking her life. She delivered her various roles–of daughter, lover, wife, mother, and business woman–with believability and ease, without so much as a nervous twitch or a blink of an eye. No one would have guessed that she was acting upon stages which left her feeling empty inside. Still, she persisted; he was not a quitter. Had theater critics been called to review her performances, they would have proclaimed her an “actress extraordinaire.” But now on this, her birthday, the ache of her acting days felt too heavy to bear. She fell asleep after dutifully eating a piece of cake for which she had no appetite. She’d even offered a lifeless smile before blowing out the candles–an act that seemed to symbolize the better part of her life now extinguished. In a dream that night, she heard the following words as clearly as those spoken in daylight. They seemed of God but were delivered tenderly in a voice that she intuitively recognized as her own:

"Stop Suzanne; please stop fooling yourself and those who love you. By playing roles that aren't true to your heart, you're not only sacrificing years and yourself but also depriving your family and the world of your gifts. How will anyone ever know the real you if you keep acting? You're a talented artist; you know it and so do I. Form, shape, colour, tone, texture, composition, and canvass make your heart sing. When was the last time you picked up a brush and painted for the joy of it? How long will you wait until you say, "This time is for me?" Are years standing still for you? What time would be better than now to express your talent?"

"What should I do? How to I begin?" asked Suzanne.

"You know as well as I. All that's lacking is action. Begin now. Take that first step." And with those words, the voice faded to the void out of which it had arisen. Suzanne's dream was over.

When Suzanne wakened in the morning, she felt pleasantly renewed. A weight had been lifted from her Being. After she washed and prepared for the coming day, she realized that she had reached a fork in the road. The choice was hers–as it always had been. She could keep to the left and continue to live more of her old tired ways; or she could turn right, and take a step in the direction of her dreams.

***

Dear Readers: This life is your opportunity to be true to your heart. You’re not here by accident; for nothing in this universe occurs by chance. Your talents are calling to be expressed. What gifts do you desire to share with the world? Although you may have sacrificed the truth in your past, you needn’t continue to lie to your future. There’s still time to blaze a trail to your dreams fulfillment.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Fabrics Of Reality

The sign above the small shop midway down the cobblestone alley read “Fabrics of Reality.” When Franco opened the door, an old-fashioned brass bell above the door tinkled his arrival. May I help you?” asked a pleasant-looking woman standing behind the counter.

“Yes,” said Franco with a smile, “I have an appointment for a reality consultation with Jason Esoteric.”

She scanned the schedule atop the counter. “Certainly, walk this way.” She led Franco to a small glass-walled office in the back corner of the shop. A middle-aged slim man stood upon their arrival and prompted Franco to sit in a chair in front of his desk. “What can I do for you today?” asked Jason.

“Well,” said Franco, “I’m redecorating my life, and I wanted your advice about reality fabrics.”

“I see,” said Jason. “Well, it really boils down to two choices.”

“What are they?”

“The first fabric is based on the outdated paradigm of matter, which is the way that the majority of people interpret reality. They believe that it’s hard, fixed, and objective. They assume it’s independent of the observer. Science disproved this interpretation more than a hundred years ago, partly due to the stunning revelations of the double-slit experiment; but most persons still believe in it. If we were comparing this reality fabric to linen, you might say that its thread count is 200 or below, which is much coarser vibration. People who choose this fabric, which is relative, mistakenly believe that it’s absolute. They also believe their body-mind is an object in space-time. Such grossly limits their opportunities and the ways in which they can decorate their life.”

“Price?”

“It’s more common, therefore cheaper; but it requires a lot more effort to maintain. In the long run, it can cost you all of your dreams! I’ll be straight up–it’s an inferior product. We don’t even keep swatches of it in stock anymore.”

“Yes, it certainly doesn’t seem appealing,” said Franco. “What can you tell me about my second choice?”

“The second choice is our premium fabric,” said Jason, leaning forward with enthusiasm. “It’s based on Consciousness only; and it’s got a reality thread count of well over 1000, which is a much higher vibration. It’s preferred by Beings who aren’t satisfied with the status quo and desire to fulfill their dreams. Because they’ve investigated their essential nature and know that Consciousness is all that there is, they realize that reality is pliable, based upon belief, and subjective. They also know that their essential nature is Spirit and that the body-mind is actually an experience, not an object. They live by one of the affirmations of Napoleon Hill, who was the author of Think and Grow Rich: “What the mind can conceive and believe, the mind can achieve.”

“Any downside to it?”

“Just one,” said Jason. “You’re going to be laughed at by the masses that prefer the common thread count; but at the end of the day, it’s your reality you’re building–not theirs.”

“Price?”

“Just the cost of investing in you and your dreams.”

“Sold!” exclaimed Franco. When can we start?”

“Today,” said Jason, “don’t waste another minute! When you get home, find a quiet location and envision what you really desire. Dream big–without limits. This fabric works great in every aspect of your life–health, wealth, and relationships! You’ll know that you’ve hit pay dirt when it feels as though your dream has already come true. It’s important that you believe that such is possible. Feel the truth of your dream reality. Write your goal in the present tense on an affirmation card and refer to it several times each day.”

A few minutes later, the door bell tinkled as Franco departed. He was on his way to living his dreams!

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Whittling Away

One late summer day, Frank Nash set off walking down the grassy-dirt lane that led to the forest at the back of his hobby farm. He was holding his meditation cushion in his right hand and a canteen in his left. At the edge of the deciduous forest, he stopped, took a swig of water, and then zigzagged his way through the woods, dry leaves crunching underfoot. When Frank came to a clearing, which was speckled with sunlight, he set down his cushion on a soft patch of grass and removed his boots. Wtih a well-practiced move, he then bent down and folded his sixty-two-year-old body upon the cushion. Hands cupped together near his lap, he then closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and entered the silence.

***

“Whatcha doin’?” came a soft voice an hour later. It was Jeffry, a young neighbour boy from an adjacent farm. He was standing off to the side of a tree stump that was directly ahead of Frank.

“I thought that might be you,” said Frank, as he opened his eyes to the young boy. “I was whittling,” he said.

“But you don’t even have a pocketknife!” exclaimed Jeffry. “You can borrow mine if you want,” he said, with a pat of the right pocket of his jeans.

“Thanks,” said Frank, with a smile, “but for this kind of whittling, I don’t need one.”

“Huh?” said Jeffry. “What kind of whittlin’ is that?”

Frank beckoned the boy to come sit near him, which Jeffry did. “We’ll it’s kind of like sculpting. Do you know much about that?”

“Uh, uh,” said Jeffry.

“Well, the really great sculptors know what’s hidden within the piece of marble before they ever touch it with a chisel and hammer. They know that they’re just releasing the statue that’s waiting inside.”

“Wow, that’s kind of neat! That’s the kind of whittlin’ you do?”

“Yup,” said Frank, “the only difference is that I work on the person.” He offered the canteen to Ralph, who took a drink. “When I meditate, I’m actually just whittling away the parts of “me” that are the costume. I let the story of me fall away, like shavings from a piece of wood, and just “be.”

“Are you looking for something special inside, like the sculptors?”

“Yup,” said Frank.

“Do I have that special somethin’ inside me, too?”

“You sure do,” said Frank, “everybody does. When I meditate, I go within to find my real Self–the I Am. When I do, I stay in peace and commune with my Maker.”

“Ohh,” said Jeffry, with a nod of his head, “that’s definitely a different type of whittling. When I whittle, the regular way, I make little boats and take them down to float them in the creek.”

“Well, that’s a pretty neat way to whittle, too,” said Frank. A few minutes later, Frank and Jeffry were tramping back up the lane, enjoying conversation that flowed easily from the subjects of frogs to airplanes to rhubarb pie. Jeffry thought that one day it might be neat to try whittling without a knife; and he knew his mom would definitely like it “’cause she always worries that I might cut myself with my Buck knife.” As they were about to diverge, Frank said that he’d love to see one of Jeffry’s whittled boats someday.

“I’ll bring one for you tomorrow,” Jeffry called; and with a wave of the hand, they went their apparently separate ways.

***

Note: This article was inspired by the term “whittling away” in a book entitled The Gift of Grace, Awakening To Its Presence, by Paul Brunton. It, as well as another of Paul Brunton’s books entitled Jesus, Krishna, And The Way of Awakening have added to my developing spiritual understanding.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

Founded Upon The Rock

If we were building a house, how meticulous most of us would be about its construction. At the very least, we would do our best to ensure to employ a great architect, an honest supplier of quality materials, and a builder with a great reputation. Most important, however (as real estate agents inform us) is location, location, location. As such relates to the title of this article, we’re not referring to the superficial appeal of a potential neighbourhood; we’re referring to the foundation upon which we build our home. How ironic that the majority of us pay great attention to the foundation upon which we plan to build a house; yet remain unaware of that upon which we base our life. Perhaps the following passages from Matthew 7:24-27 will help us become curious about our essential nature:

²⁴“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house upon the rock.

²⁵The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against the house; yet it did not fall, because it has its foundation on the rock.

²⁶But everyone who hears these words of mind and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.

²⁷The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

Without being aware of it, most of us have been building our life (the house referred to in the passages) upon the shifting sandy foundations that ultimately lead to its destruction. Those foundations are false assumptions related to the nature of our Being. We have assumed that we are the person that we believe ourselves to be. Thus, we’re happy when the conceptual person is experiencing situations labeled “good;” and very unhappy when suffering those labeled “bad.” Due to identification with something we are not (and which ultimately proves to be illusory), many of us will spend our life chasing the good times–no matter how much energy is required to do so. We will sacrifice our health, our family, and all of our resources in the pursuit of happiness. And once we finally arrive we are content…until we are not.

In desperation, most persons attempt to correct their unhappy situations through the usual means. Those means (which almost always entail external behaviour), lead persons to believe that having an affair, purchasing a shiny new red sports car, climbing the corporate ladder, having another baby, moving to a new house, becoming more spiritual, or buying another twenty pairs of shoes will correct the underlying dissatisfaction. On and on the not-so-merry Ferris wheel spins, until the person cries, “Stop the ride! This isn’t working anymore!” Suffering, although extremely painful at the time, finally leads us to turn away from the phenomenal world and seek a better foundation upon which to build our life.

What is the rock to which the scripture referred? Nothing less than the very Source of our Being. It’s not something acquired through accretion of mind-based knowledge; it’s heart-based recognition of That which we have always been. Contrary to what we have been conditioned to believe, the phenomenal world, which seems so real, is not the Absolute Reality of our Being–not even close. It is appearance only. What’s Real is Consciousness (aka God). It is That which creates and knows all apparent phenomena. The Infinite cannot be defined; but It can be known directly when we become still. We are not the person we believe ourselves to be. We ARE–period; but not as a “thing.” We are That which cannot be forgotten. To know our essential nature is to build our life upon The Rock.

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

The Regression

Since my teenage years, I’ve possessed an incredible longing to know the nature of our origin. To settle for the common definition of name and form always felt sadly lacking; for it seemed obvious (at least to me) that such was like a recipe that was missing not an–but The–essential ingredient. My deep and earnest curiousity, which has been lessened by a degree of revelation that I once believed impossible to know, has now transformed into a magical appreciation for Life, Itself. As a humble offering to you, my spiritual brothers and sisters, I present the following poem from my youth:

***

The Regression


Compelled by deep desire
To know my true Self,
To find that part of me
Distinct and separate of the body and the mind,
I employed a hypnotist to assist me with my quest.
Eyes closed, entranced, 
I was soon transported aboard a conjured boat.
Amidst the pitch and roll of mystic waves,
I heard the lulling voice of the hypnotist
As he steered me up my stream of consciousness
To discover the Truth of my origin.
Through swirling memories
Entwined with wisps of emotion,
He guided me deep, and even deeper still, 
Beyond my adolescence and childhood,
To the womb.
There, wrapped in the warm flesh
Of my loving mother,
He coaxed me back, farther still,
Until I faintly heard him ask, “Where are you now?”
Bathed in a light and love
Which I intuitively embraced
As both my beginning and my end,
I joyously replied,
“I am with God.”

- R. Arthur Russell -

Dare to dream (and care for one another).

With heartfelt regards,

Art

P.S. Please share this article if you enjoyed it. If you’d like to view my latest book (This Taste of Flesh and Bones–released September 8, 2020), press here. May it help you in your spiritual journey. 🙏🙏

“Thank You” & “Note to Publishers”

Think2wice

CONSCIOUSNESS, SPIRITUALITY, & LAW OF ATTRACTION

Category: Life Enrichment

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