Category: Christianity: Faith, Teachings, and Community
Journey into the heart of Christian faith with insightful reflections on biblical teachings, spiritual growth, and the power of community. Explore the timeless wisdom of Jesus’ teachings, embrace the transformative power of forgiveness and compassion, and discover how faith can inspire and unite us in service to others. Join us in deepening our understanding of Christian principles and fostering a compassionate community dedicated to love, grace, and spiritual fulfillment.
As I sit here in my yard, under the shade of tall trees and a sky so vast, I am reminded of the gentle teachings of impermanence. The pratyayas, those rising and falling sensations, memories, and thoughts, have once again surfaced, but they do not hold the weight they once did. Instead, there is a soft awareness that everything is already changing, and that in the grand scheme of time, everything is already gone.
I look over at my RV, which has been a sanctuary for me for so many years. Soon, this land will become something else, transformed into a clubhouse. And yet, in this moment, I am filled with deep appreciation for what has been, for the unconscious and conscious years spent on this blessed earth. The impermanence of it all doesn’t bring sadness, but rather a profound gratitude for having lived through it, both mindfully and unmindfully.
Namkhai Norbu’s sky-gazing practice teaches us to rest in the awareness of what is, without grasping or rejecting. In these moments of contemplation, I’m reminded that sky-gazing isn’t about observing the physical sky but allowing the mind to open into its own natural spaciousness. The practice reflects what is already within—clear, vast, and untouched by the clouds of thought.
As pratyayas of impermanence arise, they are met not with resistance but with curiosity. Curiosity has become my companion on this contemplative path, gently guiding me to rest in awareness without the need for answers or conclusions. There is no longer a push for meaning, only the quiet observation of the present moment unfolding, just as it is.
In this state of being, I can feel both the impermanence of the physical world and the abiding stillness of awareness. It is a paradox, and yet it is also the simplest truth: everything changes, and yet awareness remains the same.
The teachings of St. John of the Cross, Ramana Maharshi, and Namkhai Norbu all point to this truth in their own ways. We move through life, through our spiritual practices, sometimes seeking, sometimes grasping for deeper experiences. But there comes a moment when we simply stop, when we rest in the spaciousness that has always been there. It is not a state we attain; it is a state we remember.
As I continue this practice, I feel a deep gratitude, not just for the present moment, but for all that has been and all that will come. And in this gratitude, the pratyayas seem to soften, leaving behind the quiet awareness that is always there, patiently waiting for us to return.
…a restless wanderer, always searching but never finding. Sitting at the door, however, the ego transforms—no longer lost, but given a purpose. It becomes the guardian of stillness, patiently awaiting what cannot be sought, allowing presence to arise on its own.
In his gentle and profound way, Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us that we are already what we seek to become. Like a wave searching for water, we often find ourselves running in circles, seeking stability and peace, when in fact we are already made of the very essence we are searching for.
In the previous post, we reflected on the words, “Be still and know that I am God,” and on the teachings that the Kingdom of God is within us, not something to be sought outside. Thich Nhat Hanh offers a similar invitation to stillness, a reminder that we need not search beyond this moment to touch the Divine. His teachings on apranihita—aimlessness—invite us to stop running after something outside of ourselves. The Buddha is not somewhere far away, hidden behind our efforts; the Buddha is within us, right here, right now. We don’t need to become something else or achieve some great transformation to touch the truth of our being. We only need to stop, to recognize that what we are seeking is already present in us.
This echoes the Christian mystic path as well, where we are called to enter the stillness, to trust in the unfolding of the Divine presence within. St. John of the Cross speaks of surrendering into the Divine presence that is always here, guiding us without the need for striving. The great mystics remind us that the more we seek, the further we may feel from the truth. Yet when we stop seeking, when we allow ourselves to simply be, we find that the Kingdom of God is already here, waiting for us in the stillness of our own hearts.
Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings give form to this same truth. He uses the image of a wave to help us understand that we are not separate from what we seek. Just as the wave is made of water, we too are made of the very essence we long to touch. The wave doesn’t need to run after the water; it is already water. The black cloud doesn’t need to become a white cloud; it only needs light to shine on it, revealing what was always there. In the same way, we don’t need to become something else to experience peace. We need only to stop, to rest in the awareness of who we already are.
As both Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj and Papaji have taught, the very act of searching can take us further from what we seek. Papaji even wrote a book titled Call Off the Search, emphasizing that the more we search, the more we reinforce the illusion that the truth is somewhere else. This persistent search keeps us from realizing the truth that is already right here, right now. By continuing to look outside of ourselves, we create a sense of distance, when in reality there is no distance at all—only the stillness of the present moment, where what we seek has always been.
“You are already what you want to become,” Thich Nhat Hanh says. Yet we spend much of our lives not believing this truth, searching for happiness, fulfillment, and wisdom outside of ourselves. Whether it’s the Kingdom of God, Buddha-nature, or enlightenment, we chase after these ideas as though they are separate from us. But all of the great teachers—whether it be Jesus, the Buddha, or St. John of the Cross—urge us to look within. They tell us that when we stop running after what we already are, we can finally rest in the truth that has always been there.
This is what Thich Nhat Hanh calls aimlessness. The practice of aimlessness is to no longer place something in front of you to chase after. It is to recognize that everything you are searching for is already here. By stopping the search, by becoming still, we can touch the wonders of life that are already present in this moment.
In one of his talks, Thich Nhat Hanh describes this stillness beautifully: “The Kingdom of God, the Pure Land of the Buddha, is available in the here and now.” He reminds us that happiness is found in the simple things—a rose, the fresh air, a loving smile. Like the wave that need not search for water, we need only to stop and recognize the treasures already around us, treasures that we so often miss because we are running in circles.
Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that walking meditation can be a wonderful way to practice this stopping, this resting in the here and now. Each step is not taken with a sense of rushing to arrive somewhere, but with the awareness that we are already where we need to be. With each step, we arrive fully in the present moment, touching the peace, the beauty, and the wonder that is always available. It is a practice that brings us back to the present, back to ourselves, and back to the truth that there is nothing to attain.
“You don’t need to become a Buddha,” Thich Nhat Hanh says, “You are already a Buddha.” You don’t need to search for the Divine; the Divine is already within you. It is only when we stop running that we can finally touch this truth. Like the black cloud that becomes a white cloud when the light shines upon it, we are transformed by the simple act of recognition. In the stillness of aimlessness, we realize that there is no distance between us and what we seek.
As we continue our contemplative journey, may we learn to embrace the wisdom of aimlessness. May we stop chasing after what is already here, within us. And in that stopping, may we find the peace, the joy, and the freedom that comes from recognizing that we have always been enough.
The Cloud of Unknowing teaches us to sit at the door of divine mystery, letting go of effort and surrendering to grace. This mirrors profound teachings in the Buddha Dharma, emphasizing direct experience, trust, and stillness.
The Buddha’s phrase “Ehi Passiko” (Come and see) invites us to encounter truth directly—not through intellectual striving, but through quiet observation. In the Satipatthana Sutta, mindfulness is described as simply observing the body, feelings, and mind as they arise, with no need to grasp or resist.
This is like sitting at the door of unknowing: allowing thoughts, emotions, and sensations to come and go, while resting in awareness. We are not called to force understanding or make something happen; we simply sit, trusting the process.
Another Buddhist teaching, Vossagga (letting go), encourages us to release grasping and surrender to the natural flow of life. Even the ego’s restlessness becomes part of the practice, not something to fight against. As we trust the unfolding of awareness, stillness grows.
This gentle practice reminds us that neither the ego nor effort creates transformation—it is the natural interplay of surrender and grace. Whether we call it divine love or pristine awareness, sitting at the door reveals a deeper truth.
How can you embrace this today? Simply sit. Let go. Trust.
In a world that celebrates action, stillness offers a different kind of renewal. Sitting at the door of unknowing—open, patient, and without expectation—allows a subtle yet profound transformation.
Renewal doesn’t have to mean physical strength or outward achievements. It can be the quiet resilience to face life’s challenges, the emotional peace to let go of striving, and the trust to simply be.
In this practice, strength is not about doing more but about surrendering more deeply. Renewal arises not from effort but from grace, gently unfolding as you rest in the simplicity of presence.
Sitting at the door is enough. Renewal comes when we stop chasing it and allow it to find us.
In moments of busyness or stress, we can look to Psalm 46:10, which says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” This verse reminds us to take time to pause and recognize God’s sovereignty and presence in our lives.
Embracing stillness can lead us to deeper peace and understanding. Perhaps today could be a day for you to practice that stillness—whether through prayer, meditation on Scripture, or simply taking a few moments of quiet reflection.
How do you usually find peace amid the hustle and bustle?
In the chaos of life, there are words that call us to pause, to breathe, and to return to the essence of our being. Today, I find myself reflecting on a simple yet profound invitation: Be still. These words are not merely a command; they are a gentle reminder to return home to ourselves.
In a world filled with noise and distraction, these words, “be still,” invite us to rest, to find solace in the quiet moments that lie between our thoughts. How often do we forget the power of stillness, seeking answers in the frenzy of life rather than in the peaceful embrace of the present moment?
In stillness, we discover a deeper truth. It is here that we can let go of our worries, our desires, and the incessant need to control. The invitation is to surrender—to allow ourselves to simply be, without judgment or expectation. When we immerse ourselves in this stillness, we begin to experience the richness of life beyond the surface chaos.
The teachings of various traditions converge in this space of stillness. In Buddhism, the concept of mindfulness encourages us to be present, to observe without attachment. The stillness is where we can witness our thoughts and emotions without becoming entangled in them.
Similarly, in Christian teachings, we are reminded to be still and know that God is present. This stillness opens a doorway to the Divine, where we can encounter love, compassion, and grace.
In this journey of stillness, we are reminded of the command, “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God,” for it is within this sphere of inner quietude that we find the true essence of the Divine. Jesus tells us, “The kingdom of God is in the midst of you” (Luke 17:21), emphasizing that this sacred space resides within each of us. In the depths of this inner stillness, we uncover a realm filled with love, compassion, and grace—a place where the noise of the world fades away, revealing the interconnectedness of all beings and the vibrant presence of the Divine.
As I sit with this invitation, I am reminded that stillness is not an absence but a presence—a vibrant space filled with potential and awareness. It is where we can connect with our true selves and the interconnectedness of all beings.
In this stillness, we find the beauty of life unfolding. We learn to embrace the moments of joy and sorrow alike, recognizing that each is a part of the sacred tapestry of existence.
So, let us take a moment to be still. In that stillness, we can hear the whispers of our hearts, the gentle nudges of intuition, and the voice of the Divine guiding us.
As we cultivate this practice of stillness, we allow ourselves to grow and transform. The world may continue to swirl around us, but within, we can find peace, clarity, and connection.
In The Cloud of Unknowing, the author describes contemplation as a form of “spiritual sleep.” This isn’t physical sleep but a metaphor for the quieting of the active, discursive mind. It’s a state where the soul surrenders to divine mystery, resting in stillness and trust.
Contemplation, like spiritual sleep, is not about doing—it’s about resting. It invites us to let go of striving, reasoning, or trying to achieve. Instead, we allow ourselves to simply be in the moment, releasing the need to understand or control.
This restful quality makes contemplation deeply transformative. By sitting at the door, we step into a space where the usual busyness of thought subsides. In this stillness, we aren’t unconscious but profoundly present—open to grace and insight beyond the grasp of the mind.
Here are a few reminders to guide you in this practice:
Rest in Not-Knowing: Let go of the need for answers or outcomes. Allow the mystery to hold you.
Surrender Effort: Contemplation is not something you achieve but something you allow. Trust that simply sitting is enough.
Embrace Stillness: Like the restful quality of sleep, let the mind settle naturally without forcing it to be quiet.
When you sit at the door, remember that this practice is about creating space for grace to unfold. Whether thoughts arise or the mind becomes still, you are already practicing. By resting in this spiritual sleep, you connect with a deeper awareness that transcends the ordinary.
Contemplation isn’t about doing—it’s about resting. And in that resting, profound transformation is quietly at work.
As I sit here in my yard, under the shade of tall trees and a sky so vast, I am reminded of the gentle teachings of impermanence. The pratyayas, those rising and falling sensations, memories, and thoughts, have once again surfaced, but they do not hold the weight they once did. Instead, there is a soft awareness that everything is already changing, and that in the grand scheme of time, everything is already gone.
I look over at my RV, which has been a sanctuary for me for so many years. Soon, this land will become something else, transformed into a clubhouse. And yet, in this moment, I am filled with deep appreciation for what has been, for the unconscious and conscious years spent on this blessed earth. The impermanence of it all doesn’t bring sadness, but rather a profound gratitude for having lived through it, both mindfully and unmindfully.
Namkhai Norbu’s sky-gazing practice teaches us to rest in the awareness of what is, without grasping or rejecting. In these moments of contemplation, I’m reminded that sky-gazing isn’t about observing the physical sky but allowing the mind to open into its own natural spaciousness. The practice reflects what is already within—clear, vast, and untouched by the clouds of thought.
As pratyayas of impermanence arise, they are met not with resistance but with curiosity. Curiosity has become my companion on this contemplative path, gently guiding me to rest in awareness without the need for answers or conclusions. There is no longer a push for meaning, only the quiet observation of the present moment unfolding, just as it is.
In this state of being, I can feel both the impermanence of the physical world and the abiding stillness of awareness. It is a paradox, and yet it is also the simplest truth: everything changes, and yet awareness remains the same.
The teachings of St. John of the Cross, Ramana Maharshi, and Namkhai Norbu all point to this truth in their own ways. We move through life, through our spiritual practices, sometimes seeking, sometimes grasping for deeper experiences. But there comes a moment when we simply stop, when we rest in the spaciousness that has always been there. It is not a state we attain; it is a state we remember.
As I continue this practice, I feel a deep gratitude, not just for the present moment, but for all that has been and all that will come. And in this gratitude, the pratyayas seem to soften, leaving behind the quiet awareness that is always there, patiently waiting for us to return.
Following the path of meditation can feel like a gradual unraveling of the known—a shedding of what we once held onto, leading us into the mystery of contemplation. As I continue reflecting on the works of St. John of the Cross, this sacred shift from meditation into contemplation becomes clearer. It is not a step we take with effort but a grace that gently unfolds when the time is right.
St. John speaks of this transition as a call to surrender, but it is not the kind of surrender we can will into existence. Instead, it is a letting go that happens when we stop striving, when we allow ourselves to simply rest in the presence of the Divine. This is where the familiar practices of meditation—focused attention, mental inquiry, or breath awareness—fall away, giving space for something more profound to emerge.
Today, I felt this shift more deeply, not as an intellectual understanding, but as a living experience. The pratyayas—the thoughts, sensations, and memories that rise and fall—became like whispers, their pull softening in the presence of curiosity. This curiosity is not the kind that seeks answers, but one that witnesses, without needing anything to happen. In that gentle witnessing, something new emerged: a spaciousness, a quiet stillness that felt like home.
This experience is not unique to Christian mysticism. In Advaita Vedanta, the practice of self-inquiry often begins with a repetitive questioning—”Who am I?”—an active search for truth. But, as with St. John’s teachings, there comes a time when even the inquiry must dissolve into silence. The seeker steps back, not into a place of knowing, but into a place of being. In that being, all effort falls away, and we are left with the pristine awareness that has always been there.
In silence, love calls,
No longer through words or thought,
But in quiet grace.
This is the threshold between seeking and being, a place where the Divine does its quiet work in us. It is no longer about striving or yearning for a deeper experience; it is about trusting in the unfolding of love, which asks only that we rest in its presence.
For those of us on this journey, may we continue to trust this sacred shift—moving from meditation into contemplation, from seeking into being. In this silent surrender, we come closer to the essence of who we truly are.
As I re-read the works of St. John of the Cross, I have become more attuned to the threshold of transition—the dryness and emptiness that so often precede the invitation to move from meditation into contemplation. This is not unique to St. John; it is something pointed to by many of the great teachers. Whether it’s Namkhai Norbu, Ramana Maharshi, Thich Nhat Hanh, the Dalai Lama, or Orgyen Chowang in Pristine Mind, they all plant the seeds of meditative absorption, which only take root when the time is right. Now, it seems, those seeds are beginning to bloom, not as intellectual concepts, but as a living, unfolding experience.
Today, I found myself drawn into this quiet transformation. As I lay in stillness, the pratyayas—those passing thoughts, sensations, and memories—began to rise and fall, like waves on a distant shore. Curiosity, that soft and patient witness, guided me deeper, not into understanding but into presence.
The breath came of its own accord, a deep release from somewhere beyond my conscious will, as if the body itself knew what needed to unfold. And then, an awareness—a spaciousness—arose. It was not something I had summoned, nor could I hold it in place. It was simply there, naked and pure, like a clear blue sky.
St. John of the Cross speaks of this as a kind of surrender, but not the kind we can choose. It is a grace bestowed, not earned. In the stillness, I realized that my role was not to force this shift but to allow it to happen. To remain as the observer, the witness, as the Divine unfolded in its own time.
What struck me most deeply was the paradox of this surrender. The very act of trying to let go becomes an obstacle. Instead, it is curiosity that opens the door to pure awareness—curiosity that has no desire, no need for something to happen, but simply observes what is.
Today, in this unfolding, I realized that even the longing for deeper experience can become a barrier. The path is not one of striving but of witnessing. And in that witness, the Divine does its quiet work, purifying what needs to be released, and bringing us ever closer to the essence of who we truly are.
As I reflect on my own journey today, it is my hope, and the shared intention (Sankalpa) behind all of this work, that by sharing these reflections, insights, and experiences, they may serve as a guide, a comfort, or a spark of inspiration to those who come across them.
🙏🕊️🙏
Book Recommendation: St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul
Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross is a spiritual masterpiece that explores the transformative power of suffering and the journey toward union with the Divine. This work describes the profound spiritual experience of being stripped of all attachments, both inner and outer, as a necessary process for purification and deeper connection with God. For those experiencing a time of spiritual dryness or emptiness, St. John’s words offer hope and guidance through the darkness, illuminating the path to deeper faith and surrender. The Dark Night is not a time of despair, but of ultimate transformation, where we are invited to let go of our limited understanding and trust in the unfolding of the Divine. This book serves as a timeless companion for anyone navigating the challenges of the contemplative path, especially those who feel drawn to the shift from meditation to deeper contemplation.
Book Recommendation: Orgyen Chowang, Our Pristine Mind
In The Pristine Mind, Orgyen Chowang offers profound teachings on accessing our natural state of mind—a state of clarity, openness, and peace. He draws from the Dzogchen tradition, emphasizing that our true nature is already pure and perfect, and that through practice, we can return to this unconditioned state. For those on a contemplative journey, Chowang’s words provide a practical path for moving beyond mental noise and distractions, guiding us back to the inherent stillness of the mind. This book is especially helpful for those who wish to deepen their meditation practice or shift from intellectual understanding to living experience. The Pristine Mind invites readers to discover the profound joy and serenity that arises when we rest in the awareness of our true nature.
There is a quiet truth that lives within each of us, a place that is untouched by the noise of the world, a stillness that is ever-present. It’s not reserved for moments of crisis or for the end of life. It’s here, now—waiting for us to settle into its embrace.
Yet how often do we run from this stillness? We search for peace in the future, hoping it will come once we’ve completed our tasks, achieved our goals, or silenced our minds. But peace is already here, calling us back to the simplicity of being.
The Practice:
The practice begins with a simple mantra: “I am That.”
When we say these words, we invite ourselves to rest in the truth of who we are. It’s not about searching or striving—it’s a return to the natural state, where we belong. Repeat the mantra aloud, or silently in your heart, and allow yourself to rest. After each repetition, sit in silence for as long as you like, letting the mantra echo softly within.
And when you are ready, say it again: “I am That.”
There is no rush, no goal, no expectation—just the simple unfolding of awareness.
As thoughts arise, as distractions call, simply return to the mantra, letting it be like a lullaby for the restless mind.
Reflections Along the Way:
Follow the rhythm of the mantra, thoughts may come, feelings may arise. Let them pass like clouds, and rest beneath them, in the vast expanse of awareness.
You are that light, shining through all things. Rest… in the knowing.
Effortless and true, you return to what you are. Rest… in your nature.
Like a drifting cloud, the ego searches in vain. Rest… beneath the sky.
In quiet grace, he guides, showing the way back to self. Rest… in deep gratitude.
Thoughts, desires, restlessness—all falls away when we stop chasing after them. Rest in the simplicity of being.
In this way, dear reader, the mantra becomes not just words, but the very breath of being. So, rest in this mystic presence, this silence that is always there, gently touching the surface of awareness.
In the dance of both, stillness and movement arise. Rest… in the balance.
A passing thought, no more, like a ripple in still waters. Rest… in your knowing.
Being is the truth felt, beyond what eyes can hold. Rest… in the knowing of being.
Like seasons that turn, each step comes in its own time. Rest… and let it flow.
Resting in Silence
The journey, dear reader, is not about forcing the mind to be still or silent. It is about allowing the natural stillness and silence of our true self to be seen, felt and appreciated, unclouded by thought, unburdened by desire. By continuing to rest in this silence, we come to realize that the peace we seek has always been here. We become “Self-Realized.”
The practice of resting in the silence is a gift we give ourselves while we are alive. It’s not reserved for the end of life; it is the way to live fully, in peace, right here, right now. The mantra is a guide, and the silence is the true teacher.
Rest in silence. Rest in peace. Rest in your true nature. You are That.
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