Fleeting Moments

FLEETING MOMENTS (Rains retreat 2011)

Everything was leading up to this.
This moment, this house, the sound of the bird outside.

The rain keeps falling. Its as if I were surrounded by a constant wall of water.
Clothes, books, bags, all are damp and smells like old stovetop rags.
Even the rubber parts of the tea kettle are moulding.
The mist comes rolling in.

I wake up and forget to look with fresh eyes, thinking its the same old bookshelf standing there. Taking the colors of the rooms for granted. Even though I know that the colors are not out there, but they appear in my mind.

And if Im taking this moment for granted, no one is ever going to appreciate it.
It will be lost for ever.

Being bored is a luxury for the ignorant.

Even though I pretty much keep the same routine every day, all the days, hours and moments are different. If I were to make a hundred movies out of each and every one of my hundred days in retreat, they would all be unique. But who would ever watch them?

Those days are gone. Mind is viewing that which an instant ago was the present subjective moment, now turned in to an object. A memory. A concept.
Its a dead thing now.

Remembering certain things you did, said, experienced or how you reacted ten years ago will certainly not bring any transformation to this particular moment here right now. Unless you know the true nature of a memory.

Let go. Move on. Be done with it, and raise your vision to the end of the sky.
Then we can talk about skyflowers and rabbit horns.
And laugh about it.

I love you, she said. But who was she talking to?
The eyes of the beloved?
The nose?
The arms?
The heap of bones, flesh and blood all mixed up together with percieving feelings and holding on to concepts about who you are?
Hm. Maybe it was the name she was talking to.

Wanting the moment to last for ever.
Later wanting to push the memory away.
Now feeling neutral about the whole matter.

Percieving a stone as a stone as a stone.
Knowing it to be nothing separate from the cloud.

Life is a series of fleeting moments, seemingly interconnected with each other. We say we have a history, but each moment is actually fresh.

The hands typing this message, or what ever it is, are a day older then yesterday, they are not the same. Who ever I shock hands with seven or more years ago has actually never shocked this hand. Literally all the cells are renewed, its physically a totally other hand then back then. If we can even talk about a hand at all. Or even "back then".
Concepts.

So how do you know someone?
By theyre psycho-physical make up?
No, its proven to be constantly changing.

Its a river, and you can never step in to the same river twice.

So when body, thoughts and emotions are dealt with, what do we have left?
Consciousness it self? Mind as a continuum? An individual soul?
If it really exists as one permanent entity, then where does it reside?
Where did it come from? And where is it going?
Its impossible to find such a permanence in any phenomena.

A fainted taste of lies arises at the tip of my tongue. But where did it come from?

She does, he says, I loved her, I hated you. Mine, yours. Them. We.
Me, myself and I...who are you talking about?
From a truly inherently permanent self existing point of view,
theres actually no one here.//