Pressure in the Third Eye Area from the media One Space, One Being

A man asks if we share the fact of being with everyone. Rupert affirms that is true, but language has evolved to describe the content, rather than reality, of experience. There is no ‘we’ – no separate individuals. Just as there is only one space to the universe, there is one being.

A man asks about love as a quality of being. Rupert suggests that separation – subject–object experience – is the natural condition of the self. And there is something that the separate self experiences occasionally – love – which it interprets through its separation. But love is the collapse of the 'I' and the you. It is the intervention of reality into our habitual dualistic way of perceiving.

A woman asks about conflict. Rupert responds that when oneness seems to divide itself into two, it is a violation of reality, which is one. So the existence of the subject–object relationship contains a tension because reality has seemingly divided into two. And then there is a desire, or pull, to ‘restore’ the oneness of being.

A man asks about Rupert’s use of the words ‘meditation’ and ‘prayer’. Rupert responds that he uses the two words synonymously.

A man asks about objects, like a chair, to which he feels no connection as shared being. Rupert asks him if thoughts appear in consciousness. He then says that anything that appears must be made of consciousness; further, while whatever appears must be made of consciousnness, it is not itself conscious. Rupert leads the man in self-enquiry to experience this.

A woman shares her sense of holy terror at the thought of oneness and the loss of self. Rupert suggests that we are so accustomed to our sense of ourself as separate that separation feels like the natural state. When we hear about this new possibility – our shared being – it is, for the separate self, the loss of everything it considers itself to be. It is a fear of death, but it is also all that it ever really wants, like the moth desires the flame.

A woman asks, ‘What is reality?’, as she acknowledges that there must be millions of answers. Rupert responds that reality is that which truly is, and not that which seems to be. All that appears are a temporary name and form that appear and disappear.

A woman asks why we don’t understand our true nature. Rupert responds that consciousness must consent to localise itself as a finite mind; it must overlook its true being. It is a kind of sacrifice that creates a wound of separation and the subsequent longing to return.

A woman, who expresses her desire to share this understanding with others, asks Rupert to choose which of his books to present to others first. Rupert suggests that his children’s book, 'I Am Always I', should be on the coffee table and 'The Heart of Prayer' should be on the bedside table. He suggests that everyone, because of their love of truth, is qualified to share the understanding and has a sacred duty to do so in their own way.

A man wonders about the idea of consciousness making a sacrifice and asks, 'Why must consciousness suffer?' Rupert responds that it doesn't have to; it is simply its nature to do so. The love inside has to manifest and cannot be contained.

A previous question about consciousness is explained more clearly. Rupert suggests that we not assume that the limitations of the finite mind pertain to consciousness.

A woman wonders whether the physical mirrors the mind. Rupert suggests that rather than the mind and body having a deep connection, they are the same thing viewed from two different perspectives. We perceive ourselves from the inside as a mind, but we perceive each other’s minds as a body. At a more relative level, we can’t suggest that any illness is a manifestation of a negative mind – that is too literal.

A question is asked about sensation: 'What exactly is it, and where is it happening?' Rupert guides the questioner in self-enquiry to facilitate an experiential understanding of the question.

A man shares his suspicion that the answer to self-enquiry doesn’t come as a thought. Rupert responds that the answer doesn’t take place in the mind. The man then asks what the answer is. Rupert explains that it is the shining of being. Most of us trace our way back through the layers of experience, which is the process of self-investigation, which is like undressing. When you can’t take off any more, there is our being. This self-investigation leads to self-abidance.

A man shares his experience of self-enquiry – of mind investigating mind – which got exhausting. Rupert leads him in self-enquiry. The man says that, two minutes later, he is back in mind, so he’s not happy. Rupert leads him to his being and asks if there is any agitation there. Rupert then asks him to make this his homework for the next few days. Taste your being and stay there.

A man wonders what he’s actually referring to when he references 'the heart'. Rupert responds that it could be the physical heart, or it could be one’s deepest most intimate experience. Typically, the heart is the essence of our self, infinite being.

A man asks if we share the fact of being with everyone. Rupert affirms that is true, but language has evolved to describe the content, rather than reality, of experience. There is no ‘we’ – no separate individuals. Just as there is only one space to the universe, there is one being.

A man asks about love as a quality of being. Rupert suggests that separation – subject–object experience – is the natural condition of the self. And there is something that the separate self experiences occasionally – love – which it interprets through its separation. But love is the collapse of the 'I' and the you. It is the intervention of reality into our habitual dualistic way of perceiving.

A woman asks about conflict. Rupert responds that when oneness seems to divide itself into two, it is a violation of reality, which is one. So the existence of the subject–object relationship contains a tension because reality has seemingly divided into two. And then there is a desire, or pull, to ‘restore’ the oneness of being.

A man asks about Rupert’s use of the words ‘meditation’ and ‘prayer’. Rupert responds that he uses the two words synonymously.

A man asks about objects, like a chair, to which he feels no connection as shared being. Rupert asks him if thoughts appear in consciousness. He then says that anything that appears must be made of consciousness; further, while whatever appears must be made of consciousnness, it is not itself conscious. Rupert leads the man in self-enquiry to experience this.

A woman shares her sense of holy terror at the thought of oneness and the loss of self. Rupert suggests that we are so accustomed to our sense of ourself as separate that separation feels like the natural state. When we hear about this new possibility – our shared being – it is, for the separate self, the loss of everything it considers itself to be. It is a fear of death, but it is also all that it ever really wants, like the moth desires the flame.

A woman asks, ‘What is reality?’, as she acknowledges that there must be millions of answers. Rupert responds that reality is that which truly is, and not that which seems to be. All that appears are a temporary name and form that appear and disappear.

A woman asks why we don’t understand our true nature. Rupert responds that consciousness must consent to localise itself as a finite mind; it must overlook its true being. It is a kind of sacrifice that creates a wound of separation and the subsequent longing to return.

A woman, who expresses her desire to share this understanding with others, asks Rupert to choose which of his books to present to others first. Rupert suggests that his children’s book, 'I Am Always I', should be on the coffee table and 'The Heart of Prayer' should be on the bedside table. He suggests that everyone, because of their love of truth, is qualified to share the understanding and has a sacred duty to do so in their own way.

A man wonders about the idea of consciousness making a sacrifice and asks, 'Why must consciousness suffer?' Rupert responds that it doesn't have to; it is simply its nature to do so. The love inside has to manifest and cannot be contained.

A previous question about consciousness is explained more clearly. Rupert suggests that we not assume that the limitations of the finite mind pertain to consciousness.

A woman wonders whether the physical mirrors the mind. Rupert suggests that rather than the mind and body having a deep connection, they are the same thing viewed from two different perspectives. We perceive ourselves from the inside as a mind, but we perceive each other’s minds as a body. At a more relative level, we can’t suggest that any illness is a manifestation of a negative mind – that is too literal.

A question is asked about sensation: 'What exactly is it, and where is it happening?' Rupert guides the questioner in self-enquiry to facilitate an experiential understanding of the question.

A man shares his suspicion that the answer to self-enquiry doesn’t come as a thought. Rupert responds that the answer doesn’t take place in the mind. The man then asks what the answer is. Rupert explains that it is the shining of being. Most of us trace our way back through the layers of experience, which is the process of self-investigation, which is like undressing. When you can’t take off any more, there is our being. This self-investigation leads to self-abidance.

A man shares his experience of self-enquiry – of mind investigating mind – which got exhausting. Rupert leads him in self-enquiry. The man says that, two minutes later, he is back in mind, so he’s not happy. Rupert leads him to his being and asks if there is any agitation there. Rupert then asks him to make this his homework for the next few days. Taste your being and stay there.

A man wonders what he’s actually referring to when he references 'the heart'. Rupert responds that it could be the physical heart, or it could be one’s deepest most intimate experience. Typically, the heart is the essence of our self, infinite being.