The Pull of Grace

A woman asks about the death of identity, the death of the professional identity in particular. She feels lightness in the foreground, yet she resonated with Rupert's suggestion to 'jump into the abyss.' She asks him to elaborate. Rupert says that his comment about jumping into the abyss had to do with the fear that arises when the ego feels it's about to die. If the fear doesn't arise, there's no need to jump.

A woman asks if it's appropriate to rest in the moment. Rupert makes a distinction between the idea of resting in the moment and simply being in being, which is all that is needed.

A woman asks about meditation. She finds it easy to go into being but hard to stay in being, going back and forth, like in a tennis match. She asks if she's doing something that stands in the way of abiding in being? Rupert replies, you can't be in the way of being. A force of habit pulls our attention away from being. Every time you notice your mind going away from being and toward the content of experience, you can pause and relax into being. The more we abide in being as being, the easier it gets to stay there. It's like a loving relaxation of attention into being.

A woman asks how essential it is to close our eyes during meditation. Rupert responds that the reason for closing our eyes is to shut out the world; the larger part of objective experience is removed with eyes closed. You still have thoughts and feelings, but the world is no longer an distraction. But either way, eyes closed or open, remain as being.

A man asks about universal and individual experience. He describes how resting in being was a great source of stability during a difficult time. He felt as if he was loved by everyone and everything. Everything was given as everything was being taken away. Rupert responds that it seems to have something to do with the love you felt that went beyond the community, in that you opened yourself to this love and you find that it is there. You are held in love.

A man asks about being naturally localising itself as the finite mind. Does it imply the existence of an illusion? Rupert explains that illusion appears from the perspective of the finite mind, but when awareness looks at itself, it doesn't find anything objective. Rupert guides an exploration with a question: what do you see when you look at yourself? When I looks at I, what does it experience? Objectless being knows itself by being itself, and only a finite mind knows the world. An alarm goes off, but Rupert remains in his seat.

A woman describes her expectations for the retreat, which is her first. She says she came as an unworthy student yet ended up being treated like a queen. Something has been activated that feels fearful, especially in regard to the silence. She asks for more explanation about the pull of grace, in reference to the Mary and Jane analogy. Rupert is grateful for her comment about being treated like a queen. He responds that he may have started as a teacher, but he prefers being treated like a friend. Grace is always acting in our hearts – it's the gravitational pull of our being for our attention.

A man recounts that during the meditation, he can easily drop into being. He tells a story about being a volunteer on a retreat in Hawaii and experiencing a close connection with a cat. He asks, 'What is love? ' Rupert asks, 'Do you have an experience of being?', and guides him in self-enquiry. Being isn't really divided up into separate individuals. The space in this room is the same space as the space in his bedroom. Love is an absence of otherness, just like the space in all rooms is the same space. The friendship with a kitten, the love, was an experience of oneness, of being closer than close.

A woman, who hosts retreats, speaks of losing her sense of lack, which is something she'd like to pass along to others. She asks how to do this. Rupert responds that this desire is good and not egoic. He encourages her to continue to hold retreats, and so on. He suggests that when she shares about the understanding to her retreat attendees that she should 'go to where they are', meaning that for whoever shows up, she should take them by the hand to the top of the mountain. Just start walking and check to make sure no one is left behind.

A man recounts of having been at the Vedanta in June, and how he was blown away by the love and community, but this time he feels frustrated and bored. He asks, 'What's going on?' Rupert responds, that this is normal, just like when the honeymoon period is over, but the relationship continues. What he experienced in June was, in contrast to his previous experience, ecstatic. The release in the body and expansion in the mind was delightful, but experience of being is colourless. We might mistake this elation for the colourless recognition of our true nature. At some stage, a good teaching brings itself to an end. The teacher can no longer give anything of value. The teacher should be our final disappointment; nobody, nothing can make us happy.

A man describes a state of alertness during meditation that lately seems to require effort. Rupert suggests that vigilance is required in direct proportion to the extent to which objective experience still has the capacity to pull us away from our being. As that pull diminishes and our love for being deepens, the need for fierce vigilance subsides.

Is there 'a thing', a practice, that you, Rupert, held onto that eventually had to be let go? Rupert replies that he had to consciously let go of mantra practice. It eventually would turn towards the self in self-enquiry.

A man says he experienced a depth of love he has never experienced before. This sense of oneness feels a bit awkward and he doesn't know what to to with it. Rupert hesitates to respond, but says that this new experience is a challenge for the old fearful self. He tells the man to keep coming back, quoting Thich Nhat Hanh saying, 'the next Buddha will be the community.' Love is the natural state.

A man describes a period of his life falling apart during which he spent the time abiding as being. Recently something came up in his relationship, which he felt as a charge in his gut. During meditation, the sensation would dissipate. Is that also considered abiding in the self? Rupert responds that in this approach, we wouldn't really work on the sensation itself but focus on the emptiness of the space in which it arises. Notice that even the density of the sensation is pervaded by the empty space.

A question is asked about comparing terms in Kashmir Shaivism and non-duality. Rupert responds that the activity of consciousness is Shakti, which is like the movie, while Shiva is the screen. They're not really separate – the movie is pervaded by the screen. There is no separation; they are the same, but you can talk about the movie or the screen separately. Shiva in motion is Shakti, Shakti at rest is Shiva.

A man asks for a book recommendation for a former Buddhist, to which Rupert suggests 'I Am Always I', the children's book he wrote. Or 'The Heart of Prayer'.

Rupert elaborates on a previous conversation having to do with a sensation that arose, in part, triggered by something in an intimate relationship. He suggests that if it comes from a relationship, explore the sensation there, in the safety of the relationship. A relationship should be like a creaseless garment.

A woman asks about relationships. There is an irritation that keep coming up when her husband walks into the room. Rupert responds, that every time her husband walks into the room, she should give him a big hug.

A woman describes having stayed at a Zen monastery in California, and that she was committed to returning there until she read Rupert's book, 'The Heart of Prayer'. She comments on how his teaching has changed in the last ten years. She also mentions all the great friends she has made at retreat.

A woman asks about the death of identity, the death of the professional identity in particular. She feels lightness in the foreground, yet she resonated with Rupert's suggestion to 'jump into the abyss.' She asks him to elaborate. Rupert says that his comment about jumping into the abyss had to do with the fear that arises when the ego feels it's about to die. If the fear doesn't arise, there's no need to jump.

A woman asks if it's appropriate to rest in the moment. Rupert makes a distinction between the idea of resting in the moment and simply being in being, which is all that is needed.

A woman asks about meditation. She finds it easy to go into being but hard to stay in being, going back and forth, like in a tennis match. She asks if she's doing something that stands in the way of abiding in being? Rupert replies, you can't be in the way of being. A force of habit pulls our attention away from being. Every time you notice your mind going away from being and toward the content of experience, you can pause and relax into being. The more we abide in being as being, the easier it gets to stay there. It's like a loving relaxation of attention into being.

A woman asks how essential it is to close our eyes during meditation. Rupert responds that the reason for closing our eyes is to shut out the world; the larger part of objective experience is removed with eyes closed. You still have thoughts and feelings, but the world is no longer an distraction. But either way, eyes closed or open, remain as being.

A man asks about universal and individual experience. He describes how resting in being was a great source of stability during a difficult time. He felt as if he was loved by everyone and everything. Everything was given as everything was being taken away. Rupert responds that it seems to have something to do with the love you felt that went beyond the community, in that you opened yourself to this love and you find that it is there. You are held in love.

A man asks about being naturally localising itself as the finite mind. Does it imply the existence of an illusion? Rupert explains that illusion appears from the perspective of the finite mind, but when awareness looks at itself, it doesn't find anything objective. Rupert guides an exploration with a question: what do you see when you look at yourself? When I looks at I, what does it experience? Objectless being knows itself by being itself, and only a finite mind knows the world. An alarm goes off, but Rupert remains in his seat.

A woman describes her expectations for the retreat, which is her first. She says she came as an unworthy student yet ended up being treated like a queen. Something has been activated that feels fearful, especially in regard to the silence. She asks for more explanation about the pull of grace, in reference to the Mary and Jane analogy. Rupert is grateful for her comment about being treated like a queen. He responds that he may have started as a teacher, but he prefers being treated like a friend. Grace is always acting in our hearts – it's the gravitational pull of our being for our attention.

A man recounts that during the meditation, he can easily drop into being. He tells a story about being a volunteer on a retreat in Hawaii and experiencing a close connection with a cat. He asks, 'What is love? ' Rupert asks, 'Do you have an experience of being?', and guides him in self-enquiry. Being isn't really divided up into separate individuals. The space in this room is the same space as the space in his bedroom. Love is an absence of otherness, just like the space in all rooms is the same space. The friendship with a kitten, the love, was an experience of oneness, of being closer than close.

A woman, who hosts retreats, speaks of losing her sense of lack, which is something she'd like to pass along to others. She asks how to do this. Rupert responds that this desire is good and not egoic. He encourages her to continue to hold retreats, and so on. He suggests that when she shares about the understanding to her retreat attendees that she should 'go to where they are', meaning that for whoever shows up, she should take them by the hand to the top of the mountain. Just start walking and check to make sure no one is left behind.

A man recounts of having been at the Vedanta in June, and how he was blown away by the love and community, but this time he feels frustrated and bored. He asks, 'What's going on?' Rupert responds, that this is normal, just like when the honeymoon period is over, but the relationship continues. What he experienced in June was, in contrast to his previous experience, ecstatic. The release in the body and expansion in the mind was delightful, but experience of being is colourless. We might mistake this elation for the colourless recognition of our true nature. At some stage, a good teaching brings itself to an end. The teacher can no longer give anything of value. The teacher should be our final disappointment; nobody, nothing can make us happy.

A man describes a state of alertness during meditation that lately seems to require effort. Rupert suggests that vigilance is required in direct proportion to the extent to which objective experience still has the capacity to pull us away from our being. As that pull diminishes and our love for being deepens, the need for fierce vigilance subsides.

Is there 'a thing', a practice, that you, Rupert, held onto that eventually had to be let go? Rupert replies that he had to consciously let go of mantra practice. It eventually would turn towards the self in self-enquiry.

A man says he experienced a depth of love he has never experienced before. This sense of oneness feels a bit awkward and he doesn't know what to to with it. Rupert hesitates to respond, but says that this new experience is a challenge for the old fearful self. He tells the man to keep coming back, quoting Thich Nhat Hanh saying, 'the next Buddha will be the community.' Love is the natural state.

A man describes a period of his life falling apart during which he spent the time abiding as being. Recently something came up in his relationship, which he felt as a charge in his gut. During meditation, the sensation would dissipate. Is that also considered abiding in the self? Rupert responds that in this approach, we wouldn't really work on the sensation itself but focus on the emptiness of the space in which it arises. Notice that even the density of the sensation is pervaded by the empty space.

A question is asked about comparing terms in Kashmir Shaivism and non-duality. Rupert responds that the activity of consciousness is Shakti, which is like the movie, while Shiva is the screen. They're not really separate – the movie is pervaded by the screen. There is no separation; they are the same, but you can talk about the movie or the screen separately. Shiva in motion is Shakti, Shakti at rest is Shiva.

A man asks for a book recommendation for a former Buddhist, to which Rupert suggests 'I Am Always I', the children's book he wrote. Or 'The Heart of Prayer'.

Rupert elaborates on a previous conversation having to do with a sensation that arose, in part, triggered by something in an intimate relationship. He suggests that if it comes from a relationship, explore the sensation there, in the safety of the relationship. A relationship should be like a creaseless garment.

A woman asks about relationships. There is an irritation that keep coming up when her husband walks into the room. Rupert responds, that every time her husband walks into the room, she should give him a big hug.

A woman describes having stayed at a Zen monastery in California, and that she was committed to returning there until she read Rupert's book, 'The Heart of Prayer'. She comments on how his teaching has changed in the last ten years. She also mentions all the great friends she has made at retreat.