The Easiest Meditation to Share with People from the media Why Am I Still Talking?

This is a silent meditation.

A man shares his appreciation for the last thing Rupert said during the second meditation the other day: ‘Why am I still talking? I don’t know.’ He asks if Rupert was expressing some residue of the need for doing, or perhaps it was the artist’s sacred desire to express the inexpressible. Rupert replies he meant that not only doesn’t he know, he doesn’t need to know.

A woman asks if sometimes the most loving thing is to remove oneself from a difficult situation. How might she discern between staying open to others and leaving the discussion or relationship? Rupert agrees that sometimes it is right not to stay in the conversation. It’s important to step back, not out of reactivity but because you feel it is the most intelligent thing is to do. Be sure that your decision comes from love and understanding.

A woman who tends to demonise her separate self asks about the importance of living the understanding of our true nature amid the multiplicity and diversity of things. Rupert replies that in this approach, we don’t spend much time analysing or trying to get rid of the ego. In most cases, it gradually falls away, simply out of neglect. Everything we experience is only an appearance of that. This is a path of celebration.

A woman seeks Rupert’s insight because although she has found verbal teachings beneficial, she now feels that even stating ‘I am’ is excessive. Rupert says that if verbal teaching has served its purpose for her, she no longer needs to engage with it. ‘I am’ is regarded as God’s name. When we refer to reality as oneness, being, or consciousness – these are all nouns. Naming inherently implies duality, regardless of the object’s status. If we asked reality about its own experience, it would say ‘I am’.

A woman who experienced causeless happiness last year is now deeply troubled by the suffering of those affected by the invasion of Gaza. She questions how her happiness can stay intact amid such distress, feeling it’s inappropriate to ignore this suffering. Rupert replies that happiness, akin to the blue sky, is unaltered by events but can be obscured by them. Happiness is our true nature, inherent in all, yet often concealed by layers of emotion. Happiness is not an emotion; it is the background to all emotions.

A man questions whether infinite consciousness has motivation, will or desires. Rupert suggests the infinite lacks volition; the presence of volition implies time. In infinite self-knowledge, nothing objective exists; desire, aiming towards something objective, is absent. Thus, the infinite knows nothing but is what we call everything.

A woman asks about Rupert’s quote: ‘If you want to change your thoughts, you would have to start by changing the universe.’ Rupert explains that this quote was taken out of context from the original conversation in which he said it. What he meant was that everything is interconnected. Stir but a wing and stir a star. Thoughts are not isolated occurrences; your current thought grew out of the last thought. If you go on far enough, tracing back every occurrence, you end up with the universe.

A woman asks about managing the body’s restlessness. Rupert replies that in these gatherings, we receive constant reminders to return to our inner being. However, once we go back into the world, the persuasive pull of external experiences grows stronger. He shares an anecdote of attending soccer games with his son, amidst intense noise, yet experiencing profound peace within.

A man shares his experience of being with his beloved wife as she was dying. It seemed as if she became transparent and that they both went together to the One. He asks Rupert if he had a similar experience as his mother was dying. Rupert recounts the last year of his mother’s life, during which he indeed felt that she was becoming increasingly transparent. In their last conversation, he asked her if she was at peace and if she was afraid of dying, to which she replied, ‘Yes, darling, I’m at peace. What is there to be afraid of?’ All that was left of her was a quiet, loving presence, which is still here with him.

This is a silent meditation.

A man shares his appreciation for the last thing Rupert said during the second meditation the other day: ‘Why am I still talking? I don’t know.’ He asks if Rupert was expressing some residue of the need for doing, or perhaps it was the artist’s sacred desire to express the inexpressible. Rupert replies he meant that not only doesn’t he know, he doesn’t need to know.

A woman asks if sometimes the most loving thing is to remove oneself from a difficult situation. How might she discern between staying open to others and leaving the discussion or relationship? Rupert agrees that sometimes it is right not to stay in the conversation. It’s important to step back, not out of reactivity but because you feel it is the most intelligent thing is to do. Be sure that your decision comes from love and understanding.

A woman who tends to demonise her separate self asks about the importance of living the understanding of our true nature amid the multiplicity and diversity of things. Rupert replies that in this approach, we don’t spend much time analysing or trying to get rid of the ego. In most cases, it gradually falls away, simply out of neglect. Everything we experience is only an appearance of that. This is a path of celebration.

A woman seeks Rupert’s insight because although she has found verbal teachings beneficial, she now feels that even stating ‘I am’ is excessive. Rupert says that if verbal teaching has served its purpose for her, she no longer needs to engage with it. ‘I am’ is regarded as God’s name. When we refer to reality as oneness, being, or consciousness – these are all nouns. Naming inherently implies duality, regardless of the object’s status. If we asked reality about its own experience, it would say ‘I am’.

A woman who experienced causeless happiness last year is now deeply troubled by the suffering of those affected by the invasion of Gaza. She questions how her happiness can stay intact amid such distress, feeling it’s inappropriate to ignore this suffering. Rupert replies that happiness, akin to the blue sky, is unaltered by events but can be obscured by them. Happiness is our true nature, inherent in all, yet often concealed by layers of emotion. Happiness is not an emotion; it is the background to all emotions.

A man questions whether infinite consciousness has motivation, will or desires. Rupert suggests the infinite lacks volition; the presence of volition implies time. In infinite self-knowledge, nothing objective exists; desire, aiming towards something objective, is absent. Thus, the infinite knows nothing but is what we call everything.

A woman asks about Rupert’s quote: ‘If you want to change your thoughts, you would have to start by changing the universe.’ Rupert explains that this quote was taken out of context from the original conversation in which he said it. What he meant was that everything is interconnected. Stir but a wing and stir a star. Thoughts are not isolated occurrences; your current thought grew out of the last thought. If you go on far enough, tracing back every occurrence, you end up with the universe.

A woman asks about managing the body’s restlessness. Rupert replies that in these gatherings, we receive constant reminders to return to our inner being. However, once we go back into the world, the persuasive pull of external experiences grows stronger. He shares an anecdote of attending soccer games with his son, amidst intense noise, yet experiencing profound peace within.

A man shares his experience of being with his beloved wife as she was dying. It seemed as if she became transparent and that they both went together to the One. He asks Rupert if he had a similar experience as his mother was dying. Rupert recounts the last year of his mother’s life, during which he indeed felt that she was becoming increasingly transparent. In their last conversation, he asked her if she was at peace and if she was afraid of dying, to which she replied, ‘Yes, darling, I’m at peace. What is there to be afraid of?’ All that was left of her was a quiet, loving presence, which is still here with him.