Only One Mind: Infinite Consciousness from the media The Caribbean Beach of Being

A woman mentions her surprise at Rupert’s meditation comment that in retirement, one can do whatever they like. Rupert explains that retirement is an analogy for the Pathless Path, which starts from unity rather than from the separate self aiming toward a goal. Despite recognising our true nature, traces of the separate self may linger – he likens this to a retiree still getting up for work out of habit.

A woman, noticing an innocent residue of effort within herself, asks about listening to the body. Rupert replies that the body provides feedback about our tensions and resistances. He suggests that the appearance of tension that had been previously absent may indicate there’s hidden tension in the mind, perhaps straining at the edges of the now – a subtle energetic impulse to become, understand, achieve, or realise something; a subtle tension of seeking.

In a conversation about surrender, Rupert describes that the highest state for an individual is surrendering to God, but in doing so, we maintain our individuality. At some stage, we must question the one who surrenders. The paths of knowledge and devotion meet at the mountaintop, where there is no separate self – the highest surrender. There is only God’s infinite being, and we are that. What remains shining is the nameless one – that is true surrender.

A woman wonders about the residue of suspicion she experienced during meditation that being is not enough. Rupert replies that ‘I am’ is shining in the suspicion. In letting go, we taste the freedom of our true nature. He suggests the woman get off the metaphorical ‘bus’ and step onto ‘the Caribbean beach’ of being.

A conversation about the life of physical organisms. Rupert paraphrases William Blake: ‘The body is that portion of the mind that is discernible to the five senses.’ He suggests the possibility that there is only infinite consciousness. When we look at bodies, he suggests, they are just that portion of our minds perceivable by the five senses. Our bodies are alive; could it be that physical organisms are how minds appear from a third-person perspective?

In a conversation about the unborn, Rupert suggests that even when time seems to exist, we, as infinite being, are still unborn. From the perspective of linear time, the present moment appears to move along a timeline, but that is not our actual experience. If we ask, ‘How long does a moment of time last?’ the answer is that it doesn’t last any time. It is always the same now; it is eternally now. Now is not going anywhere.

A woman shares her experience of helping flood victims and wonders where reality resides. Rupert uses the analogy of a 300-page novel: the pages represent the medium, and the lines represent time. Without the pages and lines, the whole story exists in a dimensionless point. Similarly, if you remove time from memories, they condense into a dimensionless place outside time and space.

A woman who, as a teenager, experienced a sense of always being present, wonders why that experience didn’t last. Rupert replies that it may have started and stopped, or it may seem to have been eclipsed. The sense is still innately present but has shrunk, no longer shining in full, but the reality she perceived is still here; we are looking at reality’s face right now.

A conversation about physical pain. Rupert emphasises that his approach is not really applicable to physical pain, and because he is not a doctor, he cannot suggest anything. He tells a story about having had a headache the other night – he tried drinking water and taking a walk, but in the end, he took a painkiller.

A woman mentions her surprise at Rupert’s meditation comment that in retirement, one can do whatever they like. Rupert explains that retirement is an analogy for the Pathless Path, which starts from unity rather than from the separate self aiming toward a goal. Despite recognising our true nature, traces of the separate self may linger – he likens this to a retiree still getting up for work out of habit.

A woman, noticing an innocent residue of effort within herself, asks about listening to the body. Rupert replies that the body provides feedback about our tensions and resistances. He suggests that the appearance of tension that had been previously absent may indicate there’s hidden tension in the mind, perhaps straining at the edges of the now – a subtle energetic impulse to become, understand, achieve, or realise something; a subtle tension of seeking.

In a conversation about surrender, Rupert describes that the highest state for an individual is surrendering to God, but in doing so, we maintain our individuality. At some stage, we must question the one who surrenders. The paths of knowledge and devotion meet at the mountaintop, where there is no separate self – the highest surrender. There is only God’s infinite being, and we are that. What remains shining is the nameless one – that is true surrender.

A woman wonders about the residue of suspicion she experienced during meditation that being is not enough. Rupert replies that ‘I am’ is shining in the suspicion. In letting go, we taste the freedom of our true nature. He suggests the woman get off the metaphorical ‘bus’ and step onto ‘the Caribbean beach’ of being.

A conversation about the life of physical organisms. Rupert paraphrases William Blake: ‘The body is that portion of the mind that is discernible to the five senses.’ He suggests the possibility that there is only infinite consciousness. When we look at bodies, he suggests, they are just that portion of our minds perceivable by the five senses. Our bodies are alive; could it be that physical organisms are how minds appear from a third-person perspective?

In a conversation about the unborn, Rupert suggests that even when time seems to exist, we, as infinite being, are still unborn. From the perspective of linear time, the present moment appears to move along a timeline, but that is not our actual experience. If we ask, ‘How long does a moment of time last?’ the answer is that it doesn’t last any time. It is always the same now; it is eternally now. Now is not going anywhere.

A woman shares her experience of helping flood victims and wonders where reality resides. Rupert uses the analogy of a 300-page novel: the pages represent the medium, and the lines represent time. Without the pages and lines, the whole story exists in a dimensionless point. Similarly, if you remove time from memories, they condense into a dimensionless place outside time and space.

A woman who, as a teenager, experienced a sense of always being present, wonders why that experience didn’t last. Rupert replies that it may have started and stopped, or it may seem to have been eclipsed. The sense is still innately present but has shrunk, no longer shining in full, but the reality she perceived is still here; we are looking at reality’s face right now.

A conversation about physical pain. Rupert emphasises that his approach is not really applicable to physical pain, and because he is not a doctor, he cannot suggest anything. He tells a story about having had a headache the other night – he tried drinking water and taking a walk, but in the end, he took a painkiller.