All posts by Mike Zonta

Jiddu Krishnamurti on learning that transforms consciousness


Excerpt:

“Our consciousness has been programmed for thousands and thousands of years and we have been conditioned, programmed, wired…to be, to think as individuals. To think as separate entities struggling, struggling conflict — from the moment you’re born until you die. We are programmed to it. We have accepted that. We have never challenged it, we have never asked, if it possible to live a life totally, absolutely without conflict.

“And the religious organizations throughout the world have maintained this individual salvation. And we are questioning very seriously whether there is an individual consciousness. Whether you as a human consciousness have a separate consciousness from the rest of mankind. You have to answer this. You can not just play with it. My consciousness and yours; if we’ve been brought up, programmed conditioned to the individual then my consciousness is all this activities of thought. Fear is thought…

“The suffering, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the deep regrets, wounds, the burden of centuries of sorrow is part of thought. Thought is responsible for all this.”

“The guilt of being alive is heavy” by Patience Carter


“Before I start to share my story, I want to recite a poem that I wrote in the middle of the night last night, which really shows everything that I’m feeling right now. And it’s a part of my healing process: writing,” she said.

The guilt of feeling grateful to be alive is heavy.
Wanting to smile about surviving but not sure if the people around you are ready
As the world mourns, the victims killed and viciously slain, I feel guilty about screaming about my legs in pain.
Because I could feel nothing like the other 49 who weren’t so lucky to feel this pain of mine.
I never thought in a million years that this could happen.
I never thought in a million years that my eyes could witness something so tragic.
Looking at the souls leaving the bodies of individuals, looking at the killer’s machine gun throughout my right peripheral. Looking at the blood and debris covered on everyone’s faces. Looking at the gunman’s feet under the stall as he paces.
The guilt of feeling lucky to be alive is heavy. It’s like the weight of the ocean’s walls crushing uncontrolled by levies. It’s like being drug through the grass with a shattered leg and thrown on the back of a Chevy. It’s like being rushed to the hospital and told you’re gonna make it when you laid beside individuals whose lives were brutally taken.
The guilt of being alive is heavy.