The Role of Hope from the media The Stuff the Universe Is Made Of
A man asks about the role of hope, noting its significance in human experience but recognising that it always pertains to the future. Rupert references T.S. Eliot’s ‘I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope/For hope would be hope for the wrong thing’, explaining that hope is always for what is not present. However, at a relative level, it is natural to hope, such as when hoping a sick child recovers.
- Duration: 6 minutes and 31 seconds
- Recorded on: Sep 13, 2024
- Event: Seven-Day Meditation Retreat at Mandali – 7 to 14 September 2024
A man asks about using ‘I’ and ‘I am’ during meditation, feeling that ‘I’ leads to a deeper stillness, while ‘I am’ seems more emotional. Rupert explains that both ‘I’ and ‘I am’ refer to being, or awareness. He adds that ‘I’ is the name being gives to itself, and ‘I am’ is the first statement it makes. Both lead to the same awareness as long as nothing is added to them, like emotions or thoughts.
A man asks about the relationship between Atman and Brahman. Rupert explains using the analogy of space: Atman is the space in this room, and Brahman is the space of the universe, and they are the same thing. He adds that there is no small self because Atman equals Brahman.
A man asks whether his questions that arise during meditation are a legitimate form of enquiry or if they are just a way for his mind to hold onto the separate self. Rupert replies that while the questions are good, they perpetuate the activity of the mind during meditation. He suggests that meditation is a time to sink into being, and the mind, feeling redundant, may rebel with thoughts, even spiritual ones.
A woman asks if, having infinite potential, wouldn’t it imply that the infinite has the possibility to experience manifestation in some form? Rupert replies that for the infinite to see form, it must assume the activity of seeing, which localises it behind the eyes. He explains that seeing requires localisation, and the infinite cannot see from an infinite number of locations unless it localises itself.
A woman asks why the rest of the universe that is perceived by the human mind isn’t actually another type of mind, which would make it an object – because if it wasn’t an object, how could we perceive it? Rupert explains using the metaphor of a blank canvas representing infinite consciousness. The canvas vibrates within itself, producing an image that could be likened to a Jackson Pollock painting with abstract spirals. The lines of some of the spirals curl back into loops, so that the space inside a loop is perceivable as an apparent finite object (mind). But each of these apparent finite minds, and the rest of the universe is made of the same stuff – consciousness.
A woman asks whether a perceiver is needed for perception. She presents a thought experiment: after getting an apple from the fridge and placing it on the kitchen counter, if she completely forgets about it and doesn’t perceive it, does the apple still exist? Rupert explains that not only does the apple not exist when unperceived, it doesn’t exist even when perceived. He says the universe has two aspects: its reality, independent of perception, and its appearance, shaped by perception. It’s real, but an illusion, like seeing through coloured glasses – the universe is infinite being yet appears separate through perception.
A man ponders what friendship really is. Rupert asserts that friendship is our very human way of enacting, honouring, expressing, celebrating, communicating our shared being. He says that on retreats like this there are such remarkable friendships because we are consciously open to our oneness, cultivating it rather than denying it.
A man asks about why the eyes are such a powerful portal, and what is happening when we look into someone else’s eyes. Rupert replies that the eyes are more expressive than any other feature; with them, you can say so much more than with the nose or ears. He adds that sometimes, when someone looks into your eyes with a penetrating, unemotional gaze, it takes you to your true nature. In that moment, you vanish, taken to a place in yourself where you are no longer ‘you’.
A man questions if, in the model of the screen and image, infinite consciousness knows itself without subject-object distinction. He adds that, in his view, there are no finite minds. Rupert agrees that there are ultimately no finite minds but suggests that infinite consciousness knows manifestation through ‘finite’ minds. He explains that what appears as a finite mind is simply an apparent localisation of infinite consciousness.
A man reflects on Rupert’s previous meditations, stating that while ‘I am’ is his direct experience, ‘God is’ feels like a belief, not firsthand knowledge. Rupert agrees, clarifying that ‘I am’ refers to the direct, firsthand experience that being is infinite. If we say ‘God is’, we imply that God is separate from ourselves. This makes God an object, and if God is an object, God must be finite. To suggest God is finite is to deny God’s true nature. Therefore, the statement ‘God is’ subtly asserts a limitation on God and becomes, in essence, a denial of God.
A man expresses gratitude for receiving the ‘missing puzzle piece’ during the morning meditation, his realising that ‘everything is a story’, and he says he hopes that his ego has received ‘a mortal wound’. He shares that this has deepened his understanding and was the purpose of his attending this retreat. Rupert listens and thanks him.
A man asks about the role of hope, noting its significance in human experience but recognising that it always pertains to the future. Rupert references T.S. Eliot’s ‘I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope/For hope would be hope for the wrong thing’, explaining that hope is always for what is not present. However, at a relative level, it is natural to hope, such as when hoping a sick child recovers.
A woman asks, if God doesn’t know the world directly then who answers her prayers? Rupert explains that when she asks for help or gives thanks, God is a conceptual placeholder, not to be rationally analysed. He shares how, despite not believing God knows the world directly, he often finds himself thanking God, like after driving home safely late at night.
A woman expresses her gratitude for the retreat and asks about Ajātivāda, the Vedantic teachings of non-origination. Rupert explains that Ajātivāda represents the highest truth, where God knows nothing and experiences nothing – there is no universe, not even its appearance. God’s only experience is the knowledge ‘I am’. In contrast, another teaching called Vivartavāda accepts the appearance of the universe as an illusion and explores it. All teachings occur within Vivartavāda, while Ajātivāda is a direct statement of the absolute truth, not a teaching.
A man asks about using ‘I’ and ‘I am’ during meditation, feeling that ‘I’ leads to a deeper stillness, while ‘I am’ seems more emotional. Rupert explains that both ‘I’ and ‘I am’ refer to being, or awareness. He adds that ‘I’ is the name being gives to itself, and ‘I am’ is the first statement it makes. Both lead to the same awareness as long as nothing is added to them, like emotions or thoughts.
A man asks about the relationship between Atman and Brahman. Rupert explains using the analogy of space: Atman is the space in this room, and Brahman is the space of the universe, and they are the same thing. He adds that there is no small self because Atman equals Brahman.
A man asks whether his questions that arise during meditation are a legitimate form of enquiry or if they are just a way for his mind to hold onto the separate self. Rupert replies that while the questions are good, they perpetuate the activity of the mind during meditation. He suggests that meditation is a time to sink into being, and the mind, feeling redundant, may rebel with thoughts, even spiritual ones.
A woman asks if, having infinite potential, wouldn’t it imply that the infinite has the possibility to experience manifestation in some form? Rupert replies that for the infinite to see form, it must assume the activity of seeing, which localises it behind the eyes. He explains that seeing requires localisation, and the infinite cannot see from an infinite number of locations unless it localises itself.
A woman asks why the rest of the universe that is perceived by the human mind isn’t actually another type of mind, which would make it an object – because if it wasn’t an object, how could we perceive it? Rupert explains using the metaphor of a blank canvas representing infinite consciousness. The canvas vibrates within itself, producing an image that could be likened to a Jackson Pollock painting with abstract spirals. The lines of some of the spirals curl back into loops, so that the space inside a loop is perceivable as an apparent finite object (mind). But each of these apparent finite minds, and the rest of the universe is made of the same stuff – consciousness.
A woman asks whether a perceiver is needed for perception. She presents a thought experiment: after getting an apple from the fridge and placing it on the kitchen counter, if she completely forgets about it and doesn’t perceive it, does the apple still exist? Rupert explains that not only does the apple not exist when unperceived, it doesn’t exist even when perceived. He says the universe has two aspects: its reality, independent of perception, and its appearance, shaped by perception. It’s real, but an illusion, like seeing through coloured glasses – the universe is infinite being yet appears separate through perception.
A man ponders what friendship really is. Rupert asserts that friendship is our very human way of enacting, honouring, expressing, celebrating, communicating our shared being. He says that on retreats like this there are such remarkable friendships because we are consciously open to our oneness, cultivating it rather than denying it.
A man asks about why the eyes are such a powerful portal, and what is happening when we look into someone else’s eyes. Rupert replies that the eyes are more expressive than any other feature; with them, you can say so much more than with the nose or ears. He adds that sometimes, when someone looks into your eyes with a penetrating, unemotional gaze, it takes you to your true nature. In that moment, you vanish, taken to a place in yourself where you are no longer ‘you’.
A man questions if, in the model of the screen and image, infinite consciousness knows itself without subject-object distinction. He adds that, in his view, there are no finite minds. Rupert agrees that there are ultimately no finite minds but suggests that infinite consciousness knows manifestation through ‘finite’ minds. He explains that what appears as a finite mind is simply an apparent localisation of infinite consciousness.
A man reflects on Rupert’s previous meditations, stating that while ‘I am’ is his direct experience, ‘God is’ feels like a belief, not firsthand knowledge. Rupert agrees, clarifying that ‘I am’ refers to the direct, firsthand experience that being is infinite. If we say ‘God is’, we imply that God is separate from ourselves. This makes God an object, and if God is an object, God must be finite. To suggest God is finite is to deny God’s true nature. Therefore, the statement ‘God is’ subtly asserts a limitation on God and becomes, in essence, a denial of God.
A man expresses gratitude for receiving the ‘missing puzzle piece’ during the morning meditation, his realising that ‘everything is a story’, and he says he hopes that his ego has received ‘a mortal wound’. He shares that this has deepened his understanding and was the purpose of his attending this retreat. Rupert listens and thanks him.
A man asks about the role of hope, noting its significance in human experience but recognising that it always pertains to the future. Rupert references T.S. Eliot’s ‘I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope/For hope would be hope for the wrong thing’, explaining that hope is always for what is not present. However, at a relative level, it is natural to hope, such as when hoping a sick child recovers.
A woman asks, if God doesn’t know the world directly then who answers her prayers? Rupert explains that when she asks for help or gives thanks, God is a conceptual placeholder, not to be rationally analysed. He shares how, despite not believing God knows the world directly, he often finds himself thanking God, like after driving home safely late at night.
A woman expresses her gratitude for the retreat and asks about Ajātivāda, the Vedantic teachings of non-origination. Rupert explains that Ajātivāda represents the highest truth, where God knows nothing and experiences nothing – there is no universe, not even its appearance. God’s only experience is the knowledge ‘I am’. In contrast, another teaching called Vivartavāda accepts the appearance of the universe as an illusion and explores it. All teachings occur within Vivartavāda, while Ajātivāda is a direct statement of the absolute truth, not a teaching.