Hi Enki. I like your metaphor of the Chrysalis. In that metaphor, the body and the immortal soul would have to be in deep, intimate relation since one emerges from the other. We know that the body dies and breaks down into its constituent elements to returns to the earth. Does the immortal soul participate in that experience with the body it has such kinship with?Enki wrote:I believe in an immortal soul and that this body is like a Chrysalis containing a metamorphosis within.
So I would say that if you felt her standing beside you, she probably was.
In that sense, I don't believe in death.
You say you do not believe in death in the sense of your metaphor. But to go further: for a butterfly to emerge from a Chrysalis, does the caterpillar have to be no more? Does it die in that sense? Does the end of the caterpillar, the end of the chrysalis, all essential for the butterfly to emerge? If Jesus did not truly die on the cross, how would his resurrection be at all meaningful?
When I felt the dying woman standing next to me, I did not feel that her death was not real, it clearly very much was for me. I felt her death directly and intimately. A part of me died with her, and that part was harsh, irascible, inpatient, and self important. Something entirely different emerged from that and I have not been the same since, but I do not believe that such change could have been possible without her death and, in another sense, my own.
I think I understand, Alex, but let me ask you this. If you and I were to meet, and I were to relate to you some pain and struggle I were experiencing, how would that be for you? Would you experience my distress from my eyes or your own? Would you experience first hand what I was going through or from the frame of your own being?manolo wrote: kmich,
You are not wrong IMHO, in particular your last sentence.
Maybe through long study of philosophy, periods of accepting illness, or just getting old, I have come to the practical realisation that I am part of the universe. For a time this feeling came only in moments, described by some (Eckhart?) as a mystical wholeness or timeless connection. But as the years passed I no longer felt that there was a 'connection' as there was no longer any disconnection. The only way I can describe the feeling in words is that it is "all the same".
This state of mind does not come easily by any means, but I think we can invite it by growing empathy, by being with others and alone without distinction and by letting go of clinging. In fact, I am not a Buddhist, but Buddhists have a lot to say about these things.
Alex.
You seem to be a benevolent soul, so I am sure you would be empathic, but empathy is about being open to the presence of the other, in an I - Thou contact. I do not see how this is the same thing as being the same, becoming "one" in some way. I cannot know your experience, Alex, other than out of from my own frameworks, but I wonder if what you and Eckhart are saying are actual realities or instead inspired insights derived from maturity and life experiences?
When I had the experience of the woman being next to me during her death, the power of that experience was not in that I was somehow one with her, but that whatever this presence was had such great love that it could aspire across unfathomable distance to hold my heart with such care. It was the immeasurable separation coupled with that deep, loving touch where the great power resided. The parable of the Prodigal Son come to mind.
I don't know, Endovelico. Like it or not, we are mythological creatures that spring like sparks out of the primordial energies of the cosmos to tell her story and to discover her meaning. We spring out with such force that we end up lost in our subjective aspirations and forget our origins. We can get so removed from our birthright that aspirations and ideas around our origins can be dismissed as simply magical stuff that we would be better off without.Endovelico wrote:We obviously can't get rid of our magical impulses... Whether it is a religion, Harry Potter or vampires, we are fascinated by all variations on the hocus-pocus theme...
There are meanings in the stories we tell, Endovelico, some may appear trivial and some may appear profound. I have found that not only are they an inevitable part of our human destinies, but also there can be important truths and questions that can be derived from them all.