Don't search for happiness, you won't find it. Why? Because searching is the very antithesis of happiness.
Happiness is always intangible, while release (relief) from inner misery is possible immediately, by confronting to what is, instead of inventing stories about it. Inner misery is hiding your natural state of well-being and inner peace, who are the natural source of true happiness.
Eckhart Tolle (raw translation from my french version of the book)
[If you accept what is and let your inner being simply be then pieces of happiness will present your way naturally, because you'll have the right mindset to notice it.]
vendredi 13 janvier 2012
Temporary roles
How you talk to a boss from a big company is subtly different than the way you talk to the janitor. You don't talk to a child like you do with an adult. Why? Because you play roles. When you enter a store to buy something. when you go to a restaurant, to the bank or to the post office, you play pre-established roles. You become a customer and express and act as it. And the vendor (clerk) or waiter, who equally plays a role, will probably treat you as a customer. A whole range of conditionned schemes of behaviors are set between two human beings which define the nature of the interaction. In place of human beings, it's mental images interacting one another. The more people are identified to their respective roles, the more the relations are untrue (fake).
Not only you have a mental image of who is the other, but also a mental image of who you are, related particularly to the person you are interacting with. So, you don't interact with the person at all, but who you think you are is in relation with who you think the person is, and inversely. The conceptual image that your mind created of yourself is in relation with its own creation, that is with the conceptual image that he created of the other (person).
And because the mental of the other person probably did the same, each interaction between two persons is in reality an interaction between four conceptual identities of the ego, which are in the end only fictions.
It's not surprising that there are so many conflicts in human relations. There's no real relations.
Eckhart Tolle (raw translation)
Not only you have a mental image of who is the other, but also a mental image of who you are, related particularly to the person you are interacting with. So, you don't interact with the person at all, but who you think you are is in relation with who you think the person is, and inversely. The conceptual image that your mind created of yourself is in relation with its own creation, that is with the conceptual image that he created of the other (person).
And because the mental of the other person probably did the same, each interaction between two persons is in reality an interaction between four conceptual identities of the ego, which are in the end only fictions.
It's not surprising that there are so many conflicts in human relations. There's no real relations.
Eckhart Tolle (raw translation)
lundi 9 janvier 2012
Animals story
In her retro yellow bikini, next to an extravagant swiming pool, a girl is chirping on the phone, flaping around her free hand, folded at mid chest, and treading on one spot spasmodically, she also intermittently squeals and releases meows out of her mouth, to underline the peaks of her excitement, with the discretion of a whole menagerie;
A guy comes sneaking behind her, moving on tip toes, exagerating his approach, showing a carnivorous smile, probably imitating a wolf coveting an ewe, but both way less graceful, and i think about a pachyderm lusting for a hen, he then grabs her by the waist and spews out his catching line : "I think it's dinner time, and i'm very hungry!", she chuckles pathetically, ready to let herself be eaten.
I turn to my girl and say :
"Am i that ridiculous when i come near you?!, Please kill me!"
A guy comes sneaking behind her, moving on tip toes, exagerating his approach, showing a carnivorous smile, probably imitating a wolf coveting an ewe, but both way less graceful, and i think about a pachyderm lusting for a hen, he then grabs her by the waist and spews out his catching line : "I think it's dinner time, and i'm very hungry!", she chuckles pathetically, ready to let herself be eaten.
I turn to my girl and say :
"Am i that ridiculous when i come near you?!, Please kill me!"
dimanche 8 janvier 2012
Freud can rest happily
I'm in front of a town hall, a big pile of white rectangles built at the top of a hill, there are wide stairs starting at the gate and running down in a straight line, all white and shiny too under the sun, on each side rows of houses are set, creating a sort of corridor like in those old western towns.
I'm chatting with my brother far up on the white stairs, well..., he is done talking, about how my father disapproves the arrangement of my room, and my gaze is lost away in the horizon, i just entered my thinking process, my eyes are open but unaware of the vicinity,
"It's so futile"
i think, and a picture of my room, immense and illuminated appears, i throne in the middle, i feel the rage rising, for that father nothing from me was good enough, i sense the hatred filling me up, i'm starting to shout imprecations, agonizing screams, i've got killing intents, my face burns, my fists are tight, i'm howling like a beast,
"Bastard! I'm going to stab him in his chest!",
and that new picture appears, i violently wave down my arm holding a butcher knife, it enters the ribcage smoothly with the sound of broking bones, blood spurts and covers the nude skin in the open shirt, it 's a sacrifice, one frank blow, no hesitation, and i feel joy to let that fatal energy guiding me, i'm focused on the wounded chest, i see no head and no limbs, i don't recognize my father features, i'm still holding the knife, assured, grinding the innards, then behind me, on the highest tower of the town hall, shutters open fast and a woman screams at me, panicked and obviously angry, contaminated by my hatred, she says
"Authorities are comming, you're lost!",
she trembles grasping the edge of the window, i need to flee, my guts tell me they are already there, on my heels, escaping, again i have to run, people are chasing me down, i stride behind the right row of square and dull houses.
I'm reaching the shade thrown by a church covered in profound green moss here and there, the construction is like shaped in concrete, which turned a dark grey through passing time, abrasive and raw, austere, sullen, no carving or decorations, i'm starting to forget my act and my pursuers, i'm resting in that cool shade, walking to the entrance along man-planted pine trees, the caucasian type, there's a basin here, moldy and grey as well, a menacing grey, there're particles of dirt in the water, rotten vegetal specks and dying insects, and tiny larval life forms, all swashing to a desert breeze, i'm planing to walk by and, before i could understand how, my wallet is sinking at the bottom of the basin, it's the leather wallet my father gave me years ago, i can still catch sight of it, deformed, through the murky water, i've got a fright, i've been conditioned to think that losing his papers is an endless line of worries, like losing identity, dread hits me and without thinking i dive with my clothes on, i progress in the smudge with breaststroke, crossing stratums of filth and quickly reach the bottom, my wallet is there, safe, laid on a sturdy metal grid, even below is a black abyss, a nameless despair, i take my time, i'm relieved, i go out and lie on the ground, relaxing, everything's fading.
(Freud can be happy, half of his theory is accomplished ah ah)
I'm chatting with my brother far up on the white stairs, well..., he is done talking, about how my father disapproves the arrangement of my room, and my gaze is lost away in the horizon, i just entered my thinking process, my eyes are open but unaware of the vicinity,
"It's so futile"
i think, and a picture of my room, immense and illuminated appears, i throne in the middle, i feel the rage rising, for that father nothing from me was good enough, i sense the hatred filling me up, i'm starting to shout imprecations, agonizing screams, i've got killing intents, my face burns, my fists are tight, i'm howling like a beast,
"Bastard! I'm going to stab him in his chest!",
and that new picture appears, i violently wave down my arm holding a butcher knife, it enters the ribcage smoothly with the sound of broking bones, blood spurts and covers the nude skin in the open shirt, it 's a sacrifice, one frank blow, no hesitation, and i feel joy to let that fatal energy guiding me, i'm focused on the wounded chest, i see no head and no limbs, i don't recognize my father features, i'm still holding the knife, assured, grinding the innards, then behind me, on the highest tower of the town hall, shutters open fast and a woman screams at me, panicked and obviously angry, contaminated by my hatred, she says
"Authorities are comming, you're lost!",
she trembles grasping the edge of the window, i need to flee, my guts tell me they are already there, on my heels, escaping, again i have to run, people are chasing me down, i stride behind the right row of square and dull houses.
I'm reaching the shade thrown by a church covered in profound green moss here and there, the construction is like shaped in concrete, which turned a dark grey through passing time, abrasive and raw, austere, sullen, no carving or decorations, i'm starting to forget my act and my pursuers, i'm resting in that cool shade, walking to the entrance along man-planted pine trees, the caucasian type, there's a basin here, moldy and grey as well, a menacing grey, there're particles of dirt in the water, rotten vegetal specks and dying insects, and tiny larval life forms, all swashing to a desert breeze, i'm planing to walk by and, before i could understand how, my wallet is sinking at the bottom of the basin, it's the leather wallet my father gave me years ago, i can still catch sight of it, deformed, through the murky water, i've got a fright, i've been conditioned to think that losing his papers is an endless line of worries, like losing identity, dread hits me and without thinking i dive with my clothes on, i progress in the smudge with breaststroke, crossing stratums of filth and quickly reach the bottom, my wallet is there, safe, laid on a sturdy metal grid, even below is a black abyss, a nameless despair, i take my time, i'm relieved, i go out and lie on the ground, relaxing, everything's fading.
(Freud can be happy, half of his theory is accomplished ah ah)
vendredi 6 janvier 2012
Writers are Fakers
I can't be a good writer anymore, because i know too much about my truth, and my hard core values push me not to be a faker.
Writers are Fakers, i say that like a creed and hereby i throw myself off the cliff, i slip off the stool and savor the slow narrowing of that rope around my neck.
I'm talking about Story writers, not philosophy writers.
Those last ones are simply enlightened Fools!
Life is made for living.
Writers are Fakers, i say that like a creed and hereby i throw myself off the cliff, i slip off the stool and savor the slow narrowing of that rope around my neck.
I'm talking about Story writers, not philosophy writers.
Those last ones are simply enlightened Fools!
Life is made for living.
The early begining of losing oneself
People are all so pretty, inventive and talented,
so what can i do
not to feel compared
and compare myself
not to suffer
let myself drift on an
..ugly
.....lazy
........lonely
...........lame
...............slope
There i'm untouchable
The king of nothingness, the prince of contradiction!
It was the start to preserve my unicity until i reach a higher self consciousness.
(Some others will choose to lie, cheat and steal, as it's required to survive in this current humanity.
Those too weak or too righteous will find a way to shatter ostensibly, to be acknowledged.)
But in the end, it's the same, no one is honest to self.
How do you do? (How did you do?)
Which crack you chose to fall in.
Depression, anorexia, drugs, promiscuity, (self-)victimization, money, children, god, and so on, any kind of dependency.
To get out?!
When you start to see that nothing is serious, no thing is sacred, "nothing is true / real / forbidden, everything is permitted", it's in fact your own choice, to choose what's important or valuable for yourself (not dictated by others or doctrines), then you start to let yourself be, just be, faithful to your inner being, and realize that it's the new meaning of life.
so what can i do
not to feel compared
and compare myself
not to suffer
let myself drift on an
..ugly
.....lazy
........lonely
...........lame
...............slope
There i'm untouchable
The king of nothingness, the prince of contradiction!
It was the start to preserve my unicity until i reach a higher self consciousness.
(Some others will choose to lie, cheat and steal, as it's required to survive in this current humanity.
Those too weak or too righteous will find a way to shatter ostensibly, to be acknowledged.)
But in the end, it's the same, no one is honest to self.
How do you do? (How did you do?)
Which crack you chose to fall in.
Depression, anorexia, drugs, promiscuity, (self-)victimization, money, children, god, and so on, any kind of dependency.
To get out?!
When you start to see that nothing is serious, no thing is sacred, "nothing is true / real / forbidden, everything is permitted", it's in fact your own choice, to choose what's important or valuable for yourself (not dictated by others or doctrines), then you start to let yourself be, just be, faithful to your inner being, and realize that it's the new meaning of life.
(This is for you to realize where you are on your own path!)
mercredi 4 janvier 2012
The Parts played by the various faces of the Ego
The malevolents, the victims and the lovers
When some egos don't succeed in being praised or admired, they turn on other forms of attention and play certain roles to trigger it. If they don't succeed in getting positive attention, they will probably search for negative attention, for example by triggering a negative reaction in someone. This is what children do when they use capricious behaviors. The negative roles get bigger each time that the ego is pumped by an active "pain body", that is by a past emotional suffering who wants to survive by a constant search for new painful experiences (like a reminder of the past pains). Some egos commit crimes to be famous. They seek attention by celebrity and condemnation. "Please, tell me i exist, that i'm not insignificant", it seems they say. Such a pathological form of the ego is the extreme version of the "normal" ego.
A common role played by the ego is "the victim", seeking attention through pity and sympathy. The victim wants others get interested in his problem, to "her and her story". This victim part can be found in many schemes of the ego, amongst the recriminations, the feeling of being offended, indignant, etc... . Of course, once i'm indentified to a story in which i give myself the role of victim, i don't want that this story ends. So, as every therapist knows it, the ego doesn't want to end up (cut out) the problems because they are part of his identity. If no one wants to listen to my sad story, i can tell it to myself at will in my head, feel sorry for myself and so have the identity of a person unfairly treated by life, by others, by destiny or god. This role is created to define my personal image, make someone of me. That's the only important thing for the ego.
At the beginning of many so-called romantic relationships, it is very common to play a part in order to attract and keep the person that the ego sees as the one who will "make me happy, make me feel special and satisfy all my needs". The tacit and unconsciouss agreement goes like : "i will play who you'll want and you will play who i'll want." But it's not easy to play a role and to keep it indefinitely, moreover when we start to live together. And when those roles fall, what do you see? Unfortunately not yet the true essence of the being in front of you, at least in many cases, but what is covering that essence, that is the ego in the rough. An ego casts in his roles, in his "pain-body", in his frustrated desires which then transform into anger, the most probably set against the partner who didn't succeed in eliminating the underlying fear and the feeling of lack intrinsically linked to the fake sense of self created by the ego.
What we usually call "falling in love" is in most cases an intensification of the "wanting" and the "needing" of the ego. In a way you become "addicted" to another person, or rather to the image of the other person that you have created. This has nothing to do with the true love which doesn't imply any "wantings" in any forms (but simply accepting the other as he is, with no judgment). The spanish language is the most honest regarding notions about love. Indeed, te quiero means "i want you" as well as "i love you". The other expression to say "i love you", te amo, which doesn't have this meaning ambiguity, is rarely used. Maybe because true love also rarely exists."
Eckhart Tolle (rough translation)
When some egos don't succeed in being praised or admired, they turn on other forms of attention and play certain roles to trigger it. If they don't succeed in getting positive attention, they will probably search for negative attention, for example by triggering a negative reaction in someone. This is what children do when they use capricious behaviors. The negative roles get bigger each time that the ego is pumped by an active "pain body", that is by a past emotional suffering who wants to survive by a constant search for new painful experiences (like a reminder of the past pains). Some egos commit crimes to be famous. They seek attention by celebrity and condemnation. "Please, tell me i exist, that i'm not insignificant", it seems they say. Such a pathological form of the ego is the extreme version of the "normal" ego.
A common role played by the ego is "the victim", seeking attention through pity and sympathy. The victim wants others get interested in his problem, to "her and her story". This victim part can be found in many schemes of the ego, amongst the recriminations, the feeling of being offended, indignant, etc... . Of course, once i'm indentified to a story in which i give myself the role of victim, i don't want that this story ends. So, as every therapist knows it, the ego doesn't want to end up (cut out) the problems because they are part of his identity. If no one wants to listen to my sad story, i can tell it to myself at will in my head, feel sorry for myself and so have the identity of a person unfairly treated by life, by others, by destiny or god. This role is created to define my personal image, make someone of me. That's the only important thing for the ego.
At the beginning of many so-called romantic relationships, it is very common to play a part in order to attract and keep the person that the ego sees as the one who will "make me happy, make me feel special and satisfy all my needs". The tacit and unconsciouss agreement goes like : "i will play who you'll want and you will play who i'll want." But it's not easy to play a role and to keep it indefinitely, moreover when we start to live together. And when those roles fall, what do you see? Unfortunately not yet the true essence of the being in front of you, at least in many cases, but what is covering that essence, that is the ego in the rough. An ego casts in his roles, in his "pain-body", in his frustrated desires which then transform into anger, the most probably set against the partner who didn't succeed in eliminating the underlying fear and the feeling of lack intrinsically linked to the fake sense of self created by the ego.
What we usually call "falling in love" is in most cases an intensification of the "wanting" and the "needing" of the ego. In a way you become "addicted" to another person, or rather to the image of the other person that you have created. This has nothing to do with the true love which doesn't imply any "wantings" in any forms (but simply accepting the other as he is, with no judgment). The spanish language is the most honest regarding notions about love. Indeed, te quiero means "i want you" as well as "i love you". The other expression to say "i love you", te amo, which doesn't have this meaning ambiguity, is rarely used. Maybe because true love also rarely exists."
Eckhart Tolle (rough translation)
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