We’ve said before how we tend to hold onto stories of ourselves. Our identity is embedded in the stories we hold. Lots of words, defining to us who we are, who we think ourselves to be. Stories we have come to believe. Even though they are just stories, they are solid to us. They are us.
Imagine being put away in a place, maybe prison, where I have nothing – yet I take comfort in my thoughts. I still have my thoughts, no matter what. I can enjoy my memories. I can think things out. I can re-hash my opinions and the reasons for them. I can remember people and my difficulties with them, or my good times.
But if you go on like this awhile, recycling your thoughts, memories, opinions, you might reach a point where you get tired of hearing yourself talk. Maybe you finally say “enough” and you just let go of all the words.
If you were to let go of all the words, you might find your awareness moving into the blissful sheath, beyond words.
Then your identity would shift into one of bliss.
You wouldn’t have words, but you would have more expansion, more joy.
If you weren’t glued to the mind, your identity could change like this.
Comment: When we are outside in Nature, God doesn’t hide so much.
Yes, Nature is a wonderful wordless place that moves us toward the blissful sheath.
Question: Would it help to try a practice of changing our language? Maybe if a person were to avoid saying “I” and “me” – in order to decrease the small self and increase the awareness of Unity?
Actually, no, said Isaac. What we need is something altogether outside the arena of language. Moving to the blissful sheath is a subtle inner shift. If anything you could call it a kind of disinterest. Disinterest in my own opinions.
You see, I am so familiar with my own opinions, my thoughts, the stories I tell myself about me. But eventually it’s not worth it to stay there in the mental sheath.
We get a taste of the blissful sheath and eventually we want to take up residence there. The mind will still perform what it needs to do in this world. It’s just that we don’t take anything as seriously as we did before.
More than anything else, this subtle shift feels like a release of my prior outlook, my previous mental habits.
It feels refreshing to release the mental layer.
You realize you don’t have to depend on it.
There’s something more beyond it.
There’s bliss, inviting you into comfort and effortlessness.
You know sometimes when people lose their mind with Alzheimer’s, they become happier. They were so burdened before, with all their stories, and now without their stories, they become happy. I’ve met several people like this, and maybe you have, too. They are living in the moment. They lost their identity in the mental realm and have taken on a new identity beyond that.
Comment: My Grandma was like that. She had Alzheimer’s and she played Hungarian tunes on her whistle. She entertained all the other patients with her music. I remember the way my six year old daughter so enjoyed her, and the two of them connected so well. They were blissful together.
That’s wonderful.
You know this bliss is our neighbor. It’s the next layer beyond the higher mind. We can visit it. We do visit it.
With enough visits, we want to live there. So we sell our home in the mental world and take up residence in the bliss world.
Question: I find myself becoming more quiet and less willing to do social things. Is that part of moving away from the mental sheath?
Yes, it is, and the people around you may feel disappointed that you don’t want to participate as much. It isn’t easy for them to accept the change in you.
This happened to me as a young man. I just couldn’t bear all the chatter anymore. I needed depth. I needed more quiet. So I went to Yeshiva in Israel, where every moment was dedicated to prayer or study or meditation.
Even now, you see my quiet social life. I shuttle between home and here.
But life itself is so rich. I can get so much happiness from a simple cup of tea, or from listening to the birdsong in my backyard. These are deeply meaningful moments for me.
My children might walk in and say, “Dad, why are you doing nothing? Why are you so boring?” They don’t know what depth of meaning there is for me in the birdsong.
Maybe it happens that I feel so transported that I lift the cup of tea halfway to my lips, and my arm just stays there. I may not complete the movement for a long time, because I’m in such contentment. I don’t need to reach any goal. The end of the movement is no more important than the beginning, and I don’t mind staying in the middle of it. It’s almost like the death of desire. I’m perfectly happy holding my tea like that, just as it is.
You know, when we live in our mental residence, it’s all about goals. We begin something so we can end it. For instance, I drive to the grocery store to find food for supper. I select it, buy it, load it in the car, unload it, put it away and cook it for dinner. I don’t rest until the whole thing is completed.
This is what I set out to do, and I have to put up with all the steps to achieve it.
Apply this pattern to any activity. This is the way we usually live, fulfilling each step for the purpose of finishing the goal.
But if we have taken up residence in the blissful sheath, each part is fun and meaningful in itself. I enjoy the drive to the store. The products on the shelves are fascinating. I get to stroll the aisles and make choices. It’s fun to arrange them in my trunk, and then in my kitchen.
Comment: That sounds like when you’re able to see God in everything – even in things that are difficult or painful. When a person can really see God everywhere they look.
Yes, and thank you, because what you’re voicing is Enlightenment. A person who can see God everywhere has found Enlightenment.
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This is an excerpt from Chapter 1 of Volume 5, Walking the Bridge: to Freedom and Light
(Thanks to jools_sh for this bliss image on Pixabay.)
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