KFA - Krishnamurti Foundation of America

...oh, no...it's worse than I thought!

beans wrote:

...oh, no...it's worse than I thought!

don't worry you're free to roam

beans wrote:

ah, OK, so you know what a cow hitch is, but still missing the big picture, cowboy.

Yep, ride em cowboy...

what's for desert?

So, wait, you're saying beans cause you gas? Hhhhhmmm. Haven't heard that before, and definitely not on this forum  :-)

(beans never die)

beans wrote:

Good luck finding that gate...

thanks, enjoy your cud

wilbro99 wrote:

Babu wrote:

Kirsten wrote:

the moment you think the story is about babs.. babu walks in hehe

Yeah the story that i was talking about, was all the muck and maya that became so entrenched into who and what i thought i was. NOT feeding it, or simply ignoring it. (an action that it didn't seem to pleased about, almost as if its very existance was threatened) well that took time, and part of the story is the fear of what remains if one is no longer so entraped. For me it was a little bit like. MY GOD, you mean, Ive spent nearly 50 years and for what. NO reward, no status, no nothing. YOU mean to tell me, that it has all just been pointless, like pointless as in. completely up in smoke. GONE. No wonder people cling to what has been, Carry it with them, as the things itself. Anyway, just felt the urge to talk about it.
Last edited by Babu (Yesterday 21:01:49)

Babu, I think I know what you're talking about. I was 42 when my world began unraveling and had just exiled myself to a two year drive around of Europe and environs, living out of a VW Van. I carried with me for a while a note telling anyone who found me stark raving mad what had happened to me.

That note turned into a journal I began keeping to try to understand what had happened to the me to whom things happened. It was mostly about coming apart, getting used to a lesser me, and coming apart some more.

When one starts to lose one's self-reference, that gate begins to loom as the death one must literally walk through in a figuratively way, if you know what I mean.

The only sense I could make out of that disjunction was the notion of the self-reflection being the grasp one has of oneself as oneself, and that the disjunction is the experience of trading one self-ground for another self-ground, where that self-ground is one's self-to-self relation.

Here is how I see the two grasps of self the Gate separates: One self-ground always returns to a later time, regardless of the place, while the other self-ground always returns to the same place, regardless of the time.

That same place is what I call home. I can always find myself at home, regardless of when and where that finding occurs. When I learn to carry that home with me, wherever I go, I can begin to study the ways I lose myself to the particular time and place.

And please, any other who wishes to comment, at whatever level, on my little story, please come into my home and let's talk of grounds and gates and shoes and ships and…

[edit was not to content]

why do you keep telling this story about a nervous breakdown you had 40 years ago...

kirsten wrote:

because it is his story

eternal recurrence

wilbro99 wrote:

beans, the gate lies solely within the venue of the Dionysian catharsis, whilst the lack of a gate lies solely within the venue of the Apolline catharsis; the former negates whilst the latter amplifies; the former heads for the new whilst the latter heads for the All.

if there is no border is a gate needed?

tree asks: if there is no border is a gate needed??

willy sez: The only gate that is not needed is the one passed through, and that because no one passed through it. Who said anything about borders, or the lack thereof?