Populaire berichten
-
Douwe Tiemersma is vanochtend op 7 minuten over 5 overleden. We zullen hem als persoon en als leermeester missen.
-
Ik heb een week of 4 geleden deze teksten beluisterd. Ik ga het nog een keer doen. Hele mooie zomercursus van Alexander Smit. In 7 dagen, ...
-
Er heerst onrust in spirituele kringen. In het bijzonder binnen advaita georiënteerde groepen. Er heerst daar grote onrust en opwinding ove...
maandag 24 oktober 2022
This nakedness we share, this aloneness, this longing to touch... (Nancy Neithercut)
dinsdag 11 oktober 2022
Zijn het de hersenen, is het bewustzijn, is het bewustzijn? (Nancy Neithercut)
maandag 28 december 2020
The end of the story ... Einde verhaal ...
en je hebt het gevoel dat je het einde van je verhaal hebt bereikt
al dat zoeken ...
in boeken turen in woorden onder de letters
tussen de pagina's
heeft je nooit naar het antwoord geleid
en je begint eraan te twijfelen of er een antwoord is
je hebt de rand van de bekende wereld bereikt
er zijn geen tekenen meer
je kunt nergens heen kijken
er is geen volgende ...
je draait je om en er is geen weg terug
en je zult misschien beginnen op te merken dat alle woorden door andere woorden worden gedefinieerd
en alle concepten alle ideeën alle geloof is gemaakt van nog meer ideeën en dat dit denken van deze ideeën eenvoudig is
meer ideeën
meer concepten
... en ze worden allemaal bij elkaar gehouden in een beeld van hoe uw wereld eruit ziet en wat het niet is ...
geloofslagen als een horzelnest van papier
brieven geschreven door niemand samengebonden met een reeks gedachten die zegt: 'dit is mijn wereld'
'hier ben ik' in deze wereld van wervelende overtuigingen, een melkweg van concepten die op de een of andere manier bij elkaar lijken te passen in een kostuum dat je draagt
en misschien begin je je af te vragen of er iemand in deze mentale constructie van overtuiging zit
het afbrokkelen begint
onder het gewicht van onwetendheid
er lijkt misschien een naaktheid onder het masker van papier-maché te zijn
dat niemand draagt
maar dat zijn gewoon meer ideeën
het invullen van de leegte
proberen een licht te vinden
in het donker
als er geen licht is
of donker
Nancy Neithercut
and you feel like you have reached the end of your story
all that seeking...
peering into books into words under the letters
in-between the pages
has never led you to the answer
and you are beginning to doubt that there is an answer
you have reached the edge of the known world
there are no more signs
you cannot see anywhere to go
there is no next...
you turn around and there is no back
and you may begin to notice that all words are defined by other words
and all concepts all ideas all belief is made of yet more ideas and that this thinking of these ideas is simply
more ideas
more concepts
....and all are held together in a picture of what your world is like and what it is not...
layers of belief like a hornets nest of paper
letters written by no one tied together with a string of thought that says, 'this is my world'
'here I am' in this world of swirling beliefs, a galaxy of concepts that somehow seem to fit together in a costume that you wear
and you may begin to wonder if the idea that there is a someone inside this mental construction of belief that is
crumbling
under the weight of unknowing
there may seem to be a nakedness under the paper mâché mask
that no one wears
but that is simply more ideas
filling in the blankness
trying to find a light
in the dark
when there is no light
or dark
Nancy Neithercut
zondag 24 mei 2020
There is nothing wrong (Nancy Neithercut)
it seems that I arise in the longing to share this, knowing this perspective can never be shared.... knowing there are no others and no one to sing or hear her echo across the great divide... and yet...
we seem to arise in the empty space in-between us...
reflections ...dancing in love as love through love....
this dance of soundless echoes in the vastness of light without light... space without space.. emptiness without emptiness....
we are these stories of deep deep sorrow and overarching joy...
of a little girl who wept at the beauty and awe of being and who believed she had lost it and wept for forty years... and realized one day that love was never hers to give or lose... love had always sung her lines as it erased them....
and calling it love is the dream
as it all is... yet love is the closest of kisses... but it cannot kiss itself....
all words paint a kaleidoscope of colors... and shapes... a moving swirling dream ballet falling through echos of watercolors... this twirling reflection falls through its own pirouette and leaves no wake or shadow....
the letters from seekers who are the belief that there is a self that can be or should be erased reminds me of the pain... yet it grows more distant with each passing year... and I weep that they feel that there is something wrong, that they are wrong and lacking, and that I have something that they do not... I see everyone including this imaginary dancer as most beautifully innocent...
as no one is wearing the clothes of belief... no one lies under this gorgeous nakedness which so many fear... no one chooses their beautiful colors... as there is no one wearing a self... no one has a self... there is only this dream dancing.... this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself....
donderdag 7 mei 2020
Interview with Nancy Neithercut about the end of everything
zondag 19 april 2020
I am these stories that write themselves (Nancy Neithercut)
it is like you return to a house where you used to live, and it is utterly empty. all the windows are broken and the doors and shutters are hanging by a rusty nail banging in the wind. there is dust and empty dreams, dried leaves and memories and spider webs blowing around in circles in empty corners.
Yet, you need a place to live.
you need your imaginary lines to touch.
you need that set of old clothes left by your empty shadow to dance.
you move back in, but the walls and roof have become transparent.
no longer clouded by personal intent or hope and fear of love of life of death
I live beautifully suspended between who I never was and nothing at all
homeless
I am nothing but empty memories flowing
footless
I wear these shoes to dance
naked
there is no one wearing this nakedness
line less
I am these stories that write themselves
I return to sing of what can never be kissed with words
zondag 12 april 2020
In the echo of winter moon (Nancy Neithercut)
in the echo of winter moon
cherry blossoms falling
chorus of finch song pierces the darkness
chorus of memory paints the morning
the garden is adorned in shimmering gossamer
we are endlessly faceted center-less jewels
a flowing web of shimmering reflections
tides of summers
past
and future
tug your heart strings
open the floodgates of unknowing
pour you into a tsunami of ocean song
you are a scintillating voice
unique and beautiful
our stories twist and twine and carpet the day dream
spiraling galaxies explode and implode
and fall into each other
in this love song that sings itself
there are no others
yet here we are
falling in love




