"Ksetrajña is the light of awareness, the knower of all objects. The witness is not the individual embodied mind but the cosmic consciousness for which the whole cosmos is the object. It is calm and eternal and does not need the use of the senses and the mind for its witnessing.
Ksetrajña is the supreme lord, not an object in the world. He is in all fields, differentiated by the limiting conditions, from Brahma, the creator, to a tuft of grass though he himself is devoid of all limitations and incapable of definition by categories.
When we try to know the nature of the human soul, we may get to know it from above or from below, from the divine principle or the elemental nature. Man is a twofold, contradictory being; free and enslaved. He is godlike, and has the signs of his fall, that is, descent into nature. As a fallen being man is determined by the forces of nature (prakrti). He appears to be actuated solely by elemental forces, sensual impulses, fear and anxiety. But man desires to get better of his fallen nature.
The man studied by objective sciences as biology, psychology, and sociology is a natural being, is the product of the processes which take place in the world. But man, as a subject, has another origin. He is not a child of the world. He is not nature. He does not belong to the objective hierarchy of nature, as a subordinate part of it. Purusa or Ksetrajna cannot be recognized as an object among other objects or as a substance. He can only be recognized as subject, in which is hidden the secret of existence; a complete universe in an individual form. He is not therefore a part of the world or of any other whole. As an empirical being he may be like a Leibnitzian monad: closed, shut up without doors and windows. As a subject he enters infinity and infinity enters into him.
Ksetrajña is the universal in an individually unrepeatable form. The human being is a union of the universal-infinite and the universal-particular. In his subjective aspects, he is not a part of a whole but is the potential whole. To actualize it, to accomplish the universality is the ideal of man. The subjects fills itself with universal content-- achieves unity in wholeness at the end of its journey.
Man's peculiarity is not the possesion of the common pattern of two eyes and two hands, but the possesion of the inward principle which impels the creative acquisition of a qualitative content of life. He has a unique quality which is non-common. The ideal personality is unique and un-repeatable. Each person at the end of the road becomes a distinct, unrepeatable, unreplaceable being with a unique form." --S. Radhakrishnan
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sing to the Tune of New York State of Mind
Sing to the tune of NY State of Mind
Triumphant. Every time I see the skyline through a slot between buildings in Greenpoint it’s a jolt-- “New York”—like someone turning around and recognizing them, such a sensual synopsis in the brain. NEW YORK!!! I screamed it when I got out of a cab with my Dad and Grandma the first time I set foot in this Dreamland at 9 years old. Electricity. Dreams made real—Dreams grown so high they scrape the sky.
Or I behold the Bridges and Steeples and Edifices and stop and pinch myself to wake up because I just saw this apparition of Dreams and blew it off... “Hey, you’re in New York” I remind myself... Just to still be here is triumphant.
I’ve lived in 3 apartments this year before finally settling into this loft I love in Greenpoint. In New York you have such bright dreams, but simply getting the bear necessities is a challenge. So thankfully She has opened herself up to me, invited me in by providing this supportive, sweet, calm living space.
Once you live in New York you outgrow fantasies about escaping your challenges by moving. There is a morbid finalization to living in New York—yep, this is it. This is the heart of Western civilization. The only place you could move after New York is the Amazon; some jungle that is an immersion into the pure life-force. Here nature is the way wind piles trash around the gutters, the landscapes of the human face you pass, and your strong, tired legs.
I feel peaceful in nature, I love to hear a river trickling near my window. But I love the friction of the city; the interactions between my spirit and natural rhythms merging with the mechanical drone of subways and buses and traffic signals. Oh! the concrete jungle!
I wonder if I'll I ever move?..
For now New York is fun because it is a challenge. Subway navigation. Making enough to pay the bills. Getting the best deals. Getting there on time. Helping out friends, connecting people. It comes down to the breadth of energy we experience in a day here. For now I love it.
Triumphant. Every time I see the skyline through a slot between buildings in Greenpoint it’s a jolt-- “New York”—like someone turning around and recognizing them, such a sensual synopsis in the brain. NEW YORK!!! I screamed it when I got out of a cab with my Dad and Grandma the first time I set foot in this Dreamland at 9 years old. Electricity. Dreams made real—Dreams grown so high they scrape the sky.
Or I behold the Bridges and Steeples and Edifices and stop and pinch myself to wake up because I just saw this apparition of Dreams and blew it off... “Hey, you’re in New York” I remind myself... Just to still be here is triumphant.
I’ve lived in 3 apartments this year before finally settling into this loft I love in Greenpoint. In New York you have such bright dreams, but simply getting the bear necessities is a challenge. So thankfully She has opened herself up to me, invited me in by providing this supportive, sweet, calm living space.
Once you live in New York you outgrow fantasies about escaping your challenges by moving. There is a morbid finalization to living in New York—yep, this is it. This is the heart of Western civilization. The only place you could move after New York is the Amazon; some jungle that is an immersion into the pure life-force. Here nature is the way wind piles trash around the gutters, the landscapes of the human face you pass, and your strong, tired legs.
I feel peaceful in nature, I love to hear a river trickling near my window. But I love the friction of the city; the interactions between my spirit and natural rhythms merging with the mechanical drone of subways and buses and traffic signals. Oh! the concrete jungle!
I wonder if I'll I ever move?..
For now New York is fun because it is a challenge. Subway navigation. Making enough to pay the bills. Getting the best deals. Getting there on time. Helping out friends, connecting people. It comes down to the breadth of energy we experience in a day here. For now I love it.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Ram Dass says:
“Now none of this detracts one bit from the incredible love I feel for Maharaji. Once the awakening begins, you can’t help but feel profound love for all beings who have helped you along the way. But my neurotic need for love has diminished, and what has replaced it is a kind of conscious, present love, in which every time I love you, I am loving Maharaji, because he is everyone and everywhere.” Ram Dass Paths to God, 171
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Meher Baba said,
"To penetrate into the essence of all being and significance, and to release the fragrance of inner attainment for the guidance and benefit of others by expressing in the world forms of truth, love, purity and beauty: this is the sole game which has to any intrinsic and absolute worth. All other happenings, incidents and attainments can, in themselves, have no lasting importance."
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Ashram
My boyfriend told me to pack for a weekend out of the city for a surprise getaway.
I fantasized about Aruba, even though he hadn’t specified to include a bathing suit.
Instead, we met at Penn Station to take a train to New Jersey, transfer and head to Harriman to the Ananda Ashram. This was one of the first weekends of Sophomore year, August 2006.
This is our romantic weekend? It sounded like work, not like my idea of a sexy escape!
Ashram—it sounds so holy, so restricted—like we would be subject to commandments.
And our accommodations didn’t emphasize luxuriating... We debated whether to push our two single beds together but opted to sleep close knit in one bed; we’d become accustomed to sleeping in my dorm room’s twin bed over my Freshman year of college.
Our usual weekends consisted of quiet mornings of coffee and web-surfing, watching movies and reading. As we entered the gated country estate grounds of the Ashram I felt I was going to need to do something I was not yet equipped to do... It was the beginning of my knee-jerk reaction to the work and sacrifices that are necessary for growth. The communal dining hall and group meditations did not encourage laxity, they increased my self-consciousness—I felt ‘un-spiritual’ and suspicious—what was this place and who were these people??
Along with my averse, self-protective first-impressions, however, I was also immediately enchanted by the place.
I loved the wooden decks and stair-wells leading into the aged buildings. This place was a simple establishment to contain something light and peaceful. Ananda means bliss and really you can feel it in the air. Jordan wanted us to be able to escape to nature. We lived a very romantic, story book existence at that time. A living poem. So of course we walked in the woods and imagined the films we would make on location there. There were vines with blooming flowers creeping around and long, tall Pine trees shading the walking paths around the place. I went to yoga class on Saturday and felt light and free.
Jordan and I stuck out like sore thumbs, or so I thought in hyper-self consciousness. People stared but didn’t really strike up warm conversations, just maybe, “Where are you guys from”... Are you brothers?... No, friends... It was nice that we were given space to simply enjoy the place but I was also thankful when Kamaniya, a gorgeous, large woman with long chestnut brown hair introduced herself and truly welcomed us. After that I felt at ease, that this place was open for all to visit and enjoy.
On Sunday morning we sat in our cut off shorts and rugged curls on the deck of the boat-house as we wrote in our journals and took photos of the lake. We befriended Isa, a father of a little blonde boy named Amadeo. Isa had a blonde pony tail, a hoop earring and a Moon shaped, smiling face. He asked what we were writing. “A screenplay”, replied Jordan. “Hey Ama, look, it’s not everyday that you meet a screenwriter”. We did stick out but I sensed the place truly was open to anyone. I have discovered increasingly more over time how the Ashram welcomes all kinds, the teachings attract all walks of people.
I was ready to leave after the weekend immersion into this radically different days of contemplation. My body sensed the importance of what I had experienced. I was charged and exhausted at the same time. I felt like a bull on a short leash. I wanted to know everything about yoga immediately! I wanted to be there with the ashram people but keep wearing my cut offs and writing at the same time. The seed had been planted. I began to grow into my way of living and practicing towards the divine.
Ananda resonated like a gong over the next year as I began to change everything in my life—becoming vegetarian, doing yoga and studying Sufism. I wanted to be connected to that source I had felt there. I will forever crave to repay Jordan for many things-- so many gifts that sprang from the Love we shared. He introduced me to Ananda Ashram and, in the process, to my marga, my path of yoga. I would have never seen this different way of living without Jordan choosing it for us to explore. I wouldn't have been brave enough to venture into that unknown territory without him. For all those reasons, he and the ashram are connected as places my heart has known home.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Dance, Dance, Dance
I started reading Dance, Dance, Dance while dog and house sitting for a friend in Williamsburg. It was the Holidays and I was looking for something light and engaging to while away the days with. I had no idea this book would be so captivating. Her copy was creased and dog eared, which was surprising because I feel like 400 page books like this don’t always get finished. I had written Murakami off after I put down Norwegian Wood which I had started while in India a few years ago. I remember its pace being very languid and describing a beautiful girl in summer light, it was nice but was not at the same momentum as the excitement of my trip. I ended up reading the classic sci-fi escapade DUNE which I had picked up at the same free book exchange shelf at a cafe in Goa.
Dance, Dance, Dance echoes Hesse’s Steppenwolf in the narrator’s passages into Hall of Mirrors surrealism. The plot and characters are solid but the landscape itself is fluid, it is the flickering backgrounds that punctuate the plot and make for an intricate and captivating experience. There is nothing unsure about it, you are lead right through the story, there is no uncertainty of which world we are in—Murakami allows you to be certain in the uncertain, it is beautifully executed.
Murakami’s novel is about his characters’ constellating but it is also about the space in which they revolve. There is a strong sense of place in every moment of the story, and it gets extremely subtle how both the characters and the places begin to dissolve into another super-reality. We are familiarized with a place, the old Dolphin Hotel, and then we experience it’s replacement by the Modern L’Hotel Dauphin. The mystery begins as narrator tries to unfold the story behind the deal. It is out of longing for the familiar and for the real. The old Dolphin Hotel was one of those joints run by disgruntled but real characters. The type of place you can rely on. Much of the book is a yearning for the authentic and the reliable.
When the narrator first describes the now-extinct Dolphin Hotel with it’s familiar and comforting worn-in fixtures I could relate to the nostalgia of a place loved and lost. There are places that shaped who I was, not only by the experiences that happened inside, but by the personality of the whole place. Murakami loves our ability to feel a place like that, to know it’s atmosphere, it’s smell, and he goes one step farther to prepose those places not only resonate with our inner essence, they are projected from our essence—they are the rooms of the soul, the Hotels of our hearts.
The Narrator’s dance through these locations and situations inspires us to undertake our own dance. In the end their is no answer but only the afterglow of the enchanting movement through the inexplicable play of life.
Dance, Dance, Dance echoes Hesse’s Steppenwolf in the narrator’s passages into Hall of Mirrors surrealism. The plot and characters are solid but the landscape itself is fluid, it is the flickering backgrounds that punctuate the plot and make for an intricate and captivating experience. There is nothing unsure about it, you are lead right through the story, there is no uncertainty of which world we are in—Murakami allows you to be certain in the uncertain, it is beautifully executed.
Murakami’s novel is about his characters’ constellating but it is also about the space in which they revolve. There is a strong sense of place in every moment of the story, and it gets extremely subtle how both the characters and the places begin to dissolve into another super-reality. We are familiarized with a place, the old Dolphin Hotel, and then we experience it’s replacement by the Modern L’Hotel Dauphin. The mystery begins as narrator tries to unfold the story behind the deal. It is out of longing for the familiar and for the real. The old Dolphin Hotel was one of those joints run by disgruntled but real characters. The type of place you can rely on. Much of the book is a yearning for the authentic and the reliable.
When the narrator first describes the now-extinct Dolphin Hotel with it’s familiar and comforting worn-in fixtures I could relate to the nostalgia of a place loved and lost. There are places that shaped who I was, not only by the experiences that happened inside, but by the personality of the whole place. Murakami loves our ability to feel a place like that, to know it’s atmosphere, it’s smell, and he goes one step farther to prepose those places not only resonate with our inner essence, they are projected from our essence—they are the rooms of the soul, the Hotels of our hearts.
The Narrator’s dance through these locations and situations inspires us to undertake our own dance. In the end their is no answer but only the afterglow of the enchanting movement through the inexplicable play of life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
