Love Is What Draws You Here

Imagine you are a newborn infant, just born – with no memory, experience of having or being a body in a world. All you know is ‘I am’. Imagine you're on your deathbed; the room is dark and quiet, and your eyes are closed. All you know is ‘I am’. For the mind, these two experiences are separated by time and space. For being, they are the same, outside of time or space. ‘I am’ is a two-way portal. In birth, the eternal ‘I am’ apparently acquires limits and becomes ‘I am this’ or ‘I am that’. In death, the ‘I am’ loses its apparent limitation, steps out of time and space and enters eternity. Every time we take the thought ‘I am’ and allow ourself to be drawn into its referent, it becomes the portal, the golden thread, that connects us to freedom, to the ocean of peace that lies behind the mind.

Rupert thanks the staff of Garrison, as well as his team. He thanks all the attendees, without whom there would be no teaching.

A woman shares her experience during the meditation, then asks what Rupert’s experience is. Rupert says he experiences peace on the inside and love on the outside. Rupert encourages her to go into tomorrow with this open heart.

A woman wonders if there is a step between 'I am' and 'We are'. Rupert references the morning's meditation and asks us to imagine all in attendance at the retreat giving their attention to the same identical experience 'I am'. These are not separate packets of being. There is just one being. It's like a hole in a piece of paper; it's not in, but through, the paper. We are literally one.

A woman thanks Rupert for the answer to her earlier question. She then asks Rupert about his experience when letting ‘things’, and the memories associated with them, go. Rupert says that he could draw each square inch of his own home and every thing that is in its place. It consists of functional things, and everything else is an emblem of understanding, love or beauty.

A woman says she'd like to feel more connected and wonders about prayer. Rupert discusses two kinds of prayer. First is the supplicant prayer from the individual to God. In the second form of prayer, there is no individual that displaces God. There is no room for 'me' in God's being, the only being there is. 'I', as an individual being, is an illusion, an apparent limitation. 'I am' is the doorway to the second form of prayer, where the individual is surrendered, which is the highest form of prayer. Sound the name 'I' and be drawn into its referent.

A woman shares her experience in meditation of avoiding being alone. Rupert says that the reason we fear the ultimate aloneness is because the ego imagines it will remain there, alone. In the ultimate aloneness, the ego disappears, so it misinterprets aloneness based on his own belief of itself. Aloneness is a death for the ego but not for the being. True aloneness is when there are no others.

A man, who is a musician, asks about aloneness with a capital ‘A’ as there is quite a bit of fear around that sense of aloneness. Rupert suggests that when this man is performing, he is completely alone, totally one with the audience. That is the aloneness of which Rupert is speaking. Rupert suggests that he play songs without an audience until the song winds down, and remain there.

A man shares the line from the movie '2001', 'Go beyond the infinite’, and he recognises that is possible now. Rupert responds that this is a beautiful thought and to pursue that idea.

A man asks for help untangling himself from the mind co-opting the ‘I am’ as a dull experience. Rupert suggests that from the point of view of the mind, being is dull. The screen is boring compared to the movie. But if we ask being – not the mind – what its experience of itself is, it wouldn’t say it is dull or boring. It would say, ‘I am open, free, unlimited’. It is like the screensaver, the mind mimicking awareness. It is the mind saying, ‘I am John Smith’.

A question is asked about perfection of one's true nature and the habit of perfectionionism. How to love the imperfection? Rupert responds that perfection is the nature of reality. Our perfectionism comes from trying to enact that inner perfection on the outside so that the world expresses that. That can be appropriated by the ego, in which case it becomes rigid. What begins as a genuine impulse becomes an egoic tendency to hide.

A man shares his experience on the last night of the retreat and shares his gratitude to Rupert and his intense love. Rupert says thank you, I treasure our friendship. I can’t improve on your answer that love is what draws you here. Not love of anyone or anything. Just love. What do we leave here with? Love. Rupert then relays what his father said on his deathbed: ‘All I feel is love. What have I done to deserve this?’

Imagine you are a newborn infant, just born – with no memory, experience of having or being a body in a world. All you know is ‘I am’. Imagine you're on your deathbed; the room is dark and quiet, and your eyes are closed. All you know is ‘I am’. For the mind, these two experiences are separated by time and space. For being, they are the same, outside of time or space. ‘I am’ is a two-way portal. In birth, the eternal ‘I am’ apparently acquires limits and becomes ‘I am this’ or ‘I am that’. In death, the ‘I am’ loses its apparent limitation, steps out of time and space and enters eternity. Every time we take the thought ‘I am’ and allow ourself to be drawn into its referent, it becomes the portal, the golden thread, that connects us to freedom, to the ocean of peace that lies behind the mind.

Rupert thanks the staff of Garrison, as well as his team. He thanks all the attendees, without whom there would be no teaching.

A woman shares her experience during the meditation, then asks what Rupert’s experience is. Rupert says he experiences peace on the inside and love on the outside. Rupert encourages her to go into tomorrow with this open heart.

A woman wonders if there is a step between 'I am' and 'We are'. Rupert references the morning's meditation and asks us to imagine all in attendance at the retreat giving their attention to the same identical experience 'I am'. These are not separate packets of being. There is just one being. It's like a hole in a piece of paper; it's not in, but through, the paper. We are literally one.

A woman thanks Rupert for the answer to her earlier question. She then asks Rupert about his experience when letting ‘things’, and the memories associated with them, go. Rupert says that he could draw each square inch of his own home and every thing that is in its place. It consists of functional things, and everything else is an emblem of understanding, love or beauty.

A woman says she'd like to feel more connected and wonders about prayer. Rupert discusses two kinds of prayer. First is the supplicant prayer from the individual to God. In the second form of prayer, there is no individual that displaces God. There is no room for 'me' in God's being, the only being there is. 'I', as an individual being, is an illusion, an apparent limitation. 'I am' is the doorway to the second form of prayer, where the individual is surrendered, which is the highest form of prayer. Sound the name 'I' and be drawn into its referent.

A woman shares her experience in meditation of avoiding being alone. Rupert says that the reason we fear the ultimate aloneness is because the ego imagines it will remain there, alone. In the ultimate aloneness, the ego disappears, so it misinterprets aloneness based on his own belief of itself. Aloneness is a death for the ego but not for the being. True aloneness is when there are no others.

A man, who is a musician, asks about aloneness with a capital ‘A’ as there is quite a bit of fear around that sense of aloneness. Rupert suggests that when this man is performing, he is completely alone, totally one with the audience. That is the aloneness of which Rupert is speaking. Rupert suggests that he play songs without an audience until the song winds down, and remain there.

A man shares the line from the movie '2001', 'Go beyond the infinite’, and he recognises that is possible now. Rupert responds that this is a beautiful thought and to pursue that idea.

A man asks for help untangling himself from the mind co-opting the ‘I am’ as a dull experience. Rupert suggests that from the point of view of the mind, being is dull. The screen is boring compared to the movie. But if we ask being – not the mind – what its experience of itself is, it wouldn’t say it is dull or boring. It would say, ‘I am open, free, unlimited’. It is like the screensaver, the mind mimicking awareness. It is the mind saying, ‘I am John Smith’.

A question is asked about perfection of one's true nature and the habit of perfectionionism. How to love the imperfection? Rupert responds that perfection is the nature of reality. Our perfectionism comes from trying to enact that inner perfection on the outside so that the world expresses that. That can be appropriated by the ego, in which case it becomes rigid. What begins as a genuine impulse becomes an egoic tendency to hide.

A man shares his experience on the last night of the retreat and shares his gratitude to Rupert and his intense love. Rupert says thank you, I treasure our friendship. I can’t improve on your answer that love is what draws you here. Not love of anyone or anything. Just love. What do we leave here with? Love. Rupert then relays what his father said on his deathbed: ‘All I feel is love. What have I done to deserve this?’