2.12 Nor at any time indeed was I not, nor thou, nor these rulers of men, nor verily shall we ever cease to be hereafter.
The Self/Soul/Atman is imperishable.
2.13 Just as in this body the embodied (soul) passes into childhood, youth, and old age, so also does it pass into another body; the firm man does not grieve thereat.
These stages are all natural and inevitable and so the wise are not distressed.
2.14 The contacts of the senses with the objects, O son of Kunti, which cause heat and cold, pleasure and pain, have a beginning and an end; they are impermanent; endure them bravely, O Arjuna.
Sensations are relative and their processing as good/bad and tolerable/intolerable are in our minds and therefore, controllable.
2.15 That firm man whom, surely, these afflict not, O chief among men, to whom pleasure and pain are the same, is fit for attaining immortality.
The more one identifies with the connection/oneness of everything, the less the sensations are labeled by the mind.
2.16 The unreal hath no being; there is no non-being of the real; the truth about both has been seen by the knowers of the Truth (or seers of the Essence).
The only permanent thing is the Atman. Everything else is changeable.
2.19 He who takes the Self to be the slayer and he who thinks it is slain, neither of them knows. It slays not, nor is it slain.
2.20 It is not born, nor does it ever die; after having been, it again ceases not to be; unborn, eternal, changeless and ancient, it is not killed when the body is killed.
In my relationships to the world, I think of my, me, I. This vessel with stuff on the inside and outside, things that I can see and cannot see. Things that I can feel and cannot feel. This case that somewhere inside houses this thing that thinks and feels and plans is different from everything else. Where my fingertips end, something different begins - the computer keys. Where my skin on my back ends, something different begins - a chair. When I cut my nails, the clippings were me, but if I found one on the floor a month from now, I would wonder if they were mine. I would wonder if they belonged to me. My apartment belongs to me and is mine and all the things in it as well. But before they came into my possession, they belonged somewhere else. And my apartment too. When I leave, someone else will move in. It will no longer be mine. And actually, I rent it, to someone else it is not mine at all, but theirs.
With or without possessions, I am still me. With fancy items, my exterior is fancier. With purple pants, my legs are purple. Tomorrow, they could be black, or blue, or green. Without the furniture, the clothes, without my hair, I have skin that covers layers of fat and muscle and a skeleton which houses organs, etc. If my legs were shorter or longer, if I took up more space or less, I am still me. If I sat in the same spot or flew across the world, I would be the same.
Perhaps I am just my brain. A little alien creature sitting in the command center behind my eyes. But in practice, in asana, I am existing in other places. I exist in my sacrum and the joint on my left thumb. If I can exist there, can I exist in the couch? I can exist anywhere I can imagine. If in a place, then why not in a person?
Continuing like this, where do I really begin and where do I really end? If it is all impermanent, is there really an individual me at all or is really just a piece of a greater whole?
In art school the first thing people want to do when they draw is to sketch the outline of an apple. Holding an apple in my hand, it has no outline. None at all.
The world is a collection of teeny tiny things that are vibrating.
I did not make me (that I can recall). I did not pick my color or hair or ethnicity or gender. It all just kind of happened without me knowing it.
The world was here before me and will continue on after I am gone. I am not me, but you.
When I see me and mine and ours as different from you and theirs and his/hers, I become important to myself. Even if it is only to be sad, upset, in pain, I am sad and upset and in pain and that is important to me. When I see me as important, there are rules. I am the center of the universe and my thoughts, feelings, and actions, are the priority even if the thought is that I want to be nice right now. I want to be nice right now. I should be mad right now. I am sad. I am happy. I am hungry. I want this. I don't like that. I am excited. I am nervous. I can wear a lot of different emotions, clothes, professions, friends, ideas, etc.
If there is no me, if I am you and we are everything and therefore nothing, then my hot vomit frustration disappears. A deer stopped cold in its tracks staring straight into really bright headlights. Emotions, feelings, conditions, people-- everything is temporary. If everything is temporary, it not real and I can't really trust it as truth. My permanent state is not angry because it is just an emotion and what is "I" anyway? What can possibly be trespassed if I am everything and I don't exist? If I don't identify with my bike or my writing or my hair or my personality?
But what about if I see someone in pain? What if they trap me in it? Don't speak? Must I speak? Perhaps it is inevitable. Like aging and the impermanence of everything, these situations will come and the wise are not distressed. Yes, the two people are being divided into two people. Separate. The pain of the separate, of the watching pain, of the trap? Also not real.
-Friday, New York
Yellow quotes above from The Bhagavad Gita translation by Swami Sivananda 1995.
The Self/Soul/Atman is imperishable.
2.13 Just as in this body the embodied (soul) passes into childhood, youth, and old age, so also does it pass into another body; the firm man does not grieve thereat.
These stages are all natural and inevitable and so the wise are not distressed.
2.14 The contacts of the senses with the objects, O son of Kunti, which cause heat and cold, pleasure and pain, have a beginning and an end; they are impermanent; endure them bravely, O Arjuna.
Sensations are relative and their processing as good/bad and tolerable/intolerable are in our minds and therefore, controllable.
2.15 That firm man whom, surely, these afflict not, O chief among men, to whom pleasure and pain are the same, is fit for attaining immortality.
The more one identifies with the connection/oneness of everything, the less the sensations are labeled by the mind.
2.16 The unreal hath no being; there is no non-being of the real; the truth about both has been seen by the knowers of the Truth (or seers of the Essence).
The only permanent thing is the Atman. Everything else is changeable.
2.19 He who takes the Self to be the slayer and he who thinks it is slain, neither of them knows. It slays not, nor is it slain.
2.20 It is not born, nor does it ever die; after having been, it again ceases not to be; unborn, eternal, changeless and ancient, it is not killed when the body is killed.
In my relationships to the world, I think of my, me, I. This vessel with stuff on the inside and outside, things that I can see and cannot see. Things that I can feel and cannot feel. This case that somewhere inside houses this thing that thinks and feels and plans is different from everything else. Where my fingertips end, something different begins - the computer keys. Where my skin on my back ends, something different begins - a chair. When I cut my nails, the clippings were me, but if I found one on the floor a month from now, I would wonder if they were mine. I would wonder if they belonged to me. My apartment belongs to me and is mine and all the things in it as well. But before they came into my possession, they belonged somewhere else. And my apartment too. When I leave, someone else will move in. It will no longer be mine. And actually, I rent it, to someone else it is not mine at all, but theirs.
With or without possessions, I am still me. With fancy items, my exterior is fancier. With purple pants, my legs are purple. Tomorrow, they could be black, or blue, or green. Without the furniture, the clothes, without my hair, I have skin that covers layers of fat and muscle and a skeleton which houses organs, etc. If my legs were shorter or longer, if I took up more space or less, I am still me. If I sat in the same spot or flew across the world, I would be the same.
Perhaps I am just my brain. A little alien creature sitting in the command center behind my eyes. But in practice, in asana, I am existing in other places. I exist in my sacrum and the joint on my left thumb. If I can exist there, can I exist in the couch? I can exist anywhere I can imagine. If in a place, then why not in a person?
Continuing like this, where do I really begin and where do I really end? If it is all impermanent, is there really an individual me at all or is really just a piece of a greater whole?
In art school the first thing people want to do when they draw is to sketch the outline of an apple. Holding an apple in my hand, it has no outline. None at all.
The world is a collection of teeny tiny things that are vibrating.
I did not make me (that I can recall). I did not pick my color or hair or ethnicity or gender. It all just kind of happened without me knowing it.
The world was here before me and will continue on after I am gone. I am not me, but you.
When I see me and mine and ours as different from you and theirs and his/hers, I become important to myself. Even if it is only to be sad, upset, in pain, I am sad and upset and in pain and that is important to me. When I see me as important, there are rules. I am the center of the universe and my thoughts, feelings, and actions, are the priority even if the thought is that I want to be nice right now. I want to be nice right now. I should be mad right now. I am sad. I am happy. I am hungry. I want this. I don't like that. I am excited. I am nervous. I can wear a lot of different emotions, clothes, professions, friends, ideas, etc.
If there is no me, if I am you and we are everything and therefore nothing, then my hot vomit frustration disappears. A deer stopped cold in its tracks staring straight into really bright headlights. Emotions, feelings, conditions, people-- everything is temporary. If everything is temporary, it not real and I can't really trust it as truth. My permanent state is not angry because it is just an emotion and what is "I" anyway? What can possibly be trespassed if I am everything and I don't exist? If I don't identify with my bike or my writing or my hair or my personality?
But what about if I see someone in pain? What if they trap me in it? Don't speak? Must I speak? Perhaps it is inevitable. Like aging and the impermanence of everything, these situations will come and the wise are not distressed. Yes, the two people are being divided into two people. Separate. The pain of the separate, of the watching pain, of the trap? Also not real.
-Friday, New York
Yellow quotes above from The Bhagavad Gita translation by Swami Sivananda 1995.
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