The Nature of Peace and Happiness

"Is resting in being a feeling? You describe peace and happiness as the nature of being, but these seem like feelings to me. Rupert says: ‘Technically, it’s the knowing of being rather than the feeling of being – but I use “feeling” as a concession to make it more accessible. Peace, happiness and love are not emotions in the conventional sense. Emotions are disturbances – like grey clouds passing through the sky. Peace is not an emotion; it’s the absence of agitation. Happiness is not an emotion; it’s the absence of sorrow. These are like patches of blue sky between the clouds. We’re so accustomed to the drama of emotions that we overlook the gaps between them. In those gaps, the blue sky of our true nature shines through. Happiness has no opposite – it’s not the opposite of sadness. It’s what remains when the clouds of emotion part.’"

"How does the knowledge ‘I am’ emerge in evolution? Was there a point when consciousness first became aware of itself through a finite mind? Rupert says: ‘Infinite consciousness doesn’t evolve – evolution belongs to the realm of manifestation. What we call evolution is the progressive refinement of forms through which consciousness knows itself. The “I am” doesn’t emerge at a point in time, because time itself is created by the finite mind. It would be more accurate to say that the “I am” is the first contraction of the infinite into apparent finitude. Through the faculties of thinking and perceiving, the infinite seems to localise itself as a finite mind, and through that localisation, time and space appear. As William Blake said, “If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.” The doors of perception don’t reveal infinity – they conceal it.’"

"You say we can’t know the infinite through the finite mind, yet we seem to have recognition of our true nature. How is this possible? Rupert says: ‘You’re right – the finite mind cannot know the infinite, because whatever it knows is rendered finite by the very act of knowing. But here’s the key: there isn’t really a finite mind separate from infinite consciousness. The finite mind is a localisation of consciousness, like a whirlpool in water. The whirlpool doesn’t have water; it is water in motion. Likewise, the finite mind doesn’t have consciousness; it is consciousness in motion. So, it’s not that the finite mind knows the infinite – it’s that the knowing element in each finite mind is infinite consciousness itself. In the King Lear analogy: King Lear doesn’t recognise that he’s really (the actor) John Smith. It’s John Smith who has always known he’s John Smith. The finite mind doesn’t have the recognition; awareness recognises itself.’"

"When you asked ‘Are you aware?’, I briefly visited my true nature, but then the mind raised an objection – it felt attached to body sensations. How do I work with this? Rupert says: ‘That’s a beautiful observation. You touched your true nature, and then the mind came in with its commentary. This is completely normal. The question “Are you aware?” is designed to take you to the experience of being aware before the mind has time to conceptualise it. In that instant, you taste awareness directly. Then thought rushes in: “But I’m still aware of the body, so I must be the body.” Use the mind’s objections to dig deeper. Ask: is awareness itself located in the body, or does the body appear in awareness? The sensation of the body is an object of awareness – it’s not awareness itself. When you checked your experience, you found that the experience of being aware is completely free of objective content. Stay with that recognition, and let the mind’s objections dissolve in the light of direct experience.’"

"Sometimes in meditation my breathing seems to stop. Is this a sign of going deeper, or should I be concerned? Rupert says: ‘As the mind settles, the breath naturally settles too. This is completely natural and nothing to be concerned about. The body follows the mind. When the mind is agitated, the breath is agitated. When the mind is peaceful, the breath becomes subtle and refined. In some traditions – the yogic approach – you control the breath to control the mind, and through controlling the mind you arrive at peace. That’s a legitimate approach. But the direct approach goes straight to your true nature, which is already at peace. As you rest there, the mind naturally quiets, and the body and breath naturally quiet. You don’t need to do anything with the breath. Just don’t stop breathing deliberately – let it find its own rhythm. If the breath becomes very subtle, that’s simply the body expressing the peace you’re resting in.’"

"I find myself returning to being for two to five seconds many times throughout the day. Should I formalise this as a practice, or keep it spontaneous? Rupert says: ‘Keep it spontaneous. If you formalise it, it becomes another task for the mind to manage. Nature already gives us gaps between thoughts and perceptions – these are natural windows into being. At first, these returns feel like separate moments, unconnected islands of peace. But in time, you realise that being is always there, like a river running beneath experience – not just in the gaps between experiences, but during them. It’s like suddenly noticing that music has been playing softly in the background all along. Eventually, the distinction between “being in being” and “being in activity” fades. This is what the Christian mystics meant by “praying without ceasing.” Meditation is simply remaining in touch with the feeling of being throughout the day. There’s no need to control thoughts – just stay connected to the current of being that runs through all experience.’"

"A woman asks: ‘Rupert, will you speak to us of love?’ Rupert says: ‘I can’t speak of love. I can only try to demonstrate it.’ When we feel that we share our being with everyone, we’re naturally drawn to caring for others – this is the impulse behind all genuine service. But love alone isn’t enough for sustainable work in the world. We also need the mind to create structures, to make our caring efficient, to prevent burnout. Many people drawn to caring professions burn out because they give from love without the discernment that reason provides. The mind isn’t the enemy of love – it’s love’s instrument in manifestation. When love and reason work together, our service becomes what I would call a dance of love and reason. We give fully, but wisely. We care deeply, but sustainably.’"

"I lost my grandmother and father three months apart. I can still feel an ongoing connection with my father – his thoughts, his protective presence – but I can’t feel my grandmother at all. Why would this be? Rupert says: ‘This is a beautiful question, and I think the answer lies in the nature of each person’s relationship with their own being. Your grandmother, from what you describe, was almost transparent – there was very little sense of a separate self in her. When she died, her wave dissolved so harmoniously back into the ocean that it left almost no trace on the surface. Your father was perhaps more tempestuous – his wave had more definition, more force. When such a wave subsides, the ripples continue outward, still interacting with your own wave. The inability to “connect” with your grandmother isn’t because she disappeared – it’s because she came so close that she became one with your own being. She’s no longer something you can know as an object of experience; she’s become part of what you are. Your father you can still feel because he remains, in a sense, an other. Your grandmother has dissolved into the very being through which you would try to reach her.’"

"I wake at 3 a.m. overwhelmed by emotional storms. During the day, the world distracts me, but at night there’s nothing to push the feelings away. How do I work with this? Rupert says: ‘At night, when perceptions of the world are withdrawn, feelings that were at the periphery rush into the empty space. Ideally, you would feel yourself as the open, empty, loving space of awareness in which these storms arise – be the sky through which the clouds pass, be the ocean in which the waves rise and fall. If that feels too abstract in the intensity of the moment, take intermediary steps: listen to music, listen to recordings of these teachings, read something beautiful – I recommend Jacques Lusseyran’s And There Was Light. If that’s still not enough, do some gentle yoga, or reach out to someone in the community app who’s in another time zone. But I want to say something directly to you: the teaching alone isn’t enough for most people. You need community. You need the support of others on this path. And you have to show up. Come back. Let the community take care of you. The door is open, but you have to walk through it.’"

"Zen teachings speak of awareness as “beyond time and space,” yet you often speak of the “spaciousness of awareness.” What is the relationship between awareness and space? Rupert says: ‘The phrase “beyond time and space” can be misleading – it suggests that awareness is further away than time and space, somewhere out there past them. It’s more accurate to say awareness is prior to time and space – closer to you than thought or perception. We use spatial language as a concession to the finite mind, because awareness shares certain qualities with space: openness, emptiness, no resistance, the capacity to contain everything without being affected. Space is a useful analogy for awareness, just as light is – light renders things visible, just as awareness renders things knowable. I use three analogies corresponding to three stages of recognition: the sun represents awareness as the witness or knower; space represents awareness as the container or medium of experience; the ocean represents awareness as the very substance from which experience is made. These analogies don’t describe awareness – they evoke the felt sense of it.’"

"Are there finite minds besides human minds? What about animals, or even angels? Rupert says: ‘Yes – dogs, cats, all animals have finite minds through which consciousness localises itself and knows experience. And there may well be minds far more refined than ours – what tradition calls angels. Milton wrote beautifully of this in Paradise Lost: “Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, angels, for ye behold him.” These would be minds with faculties more refined than our relatively crude apparatus of thought and perception. One clarification: when you ask about minds “before the human mind”, you presume time exists independently. But time is created by the finite mind through its activity. Before the finite mind, there is no “before”. Each mind refracts the eternal according to its own properties – grosser minds refract it into denser appearances, subtler minds into more refined ones. Angels, if they exist, would experience reality in ways we cannot imagine through our relatively limited faculties.’"

"In a meditation, you said experience isn’t superimposed on us. But if the mind creates experience, why don’t we feel like creators? Rupert says: ‘Because we don’t create the world’s reality – only its appearance. The world’s reality is infinite consciousness itself. Its appearance as multiplicity and diversity is the contribution of the finite mind’s perceiving faculties. Wordsworth captured this: we “half perceive and half create” the world. The reality we perceive is truly there; the forms it takes are shaped by our perception. Consider: the mind is not an entity but an activity – thinking and perceiving. Thoughts aren’t things that exist independently; they’re modulations of awareness, like vibrations in water. There are no real selves, no real objects, no real world – just the one infinite consciousness vibrating within itself. Perception creates the boundary that makes “inside” and “outside”. We’re looking at the inside of God’s mind through our perceiving faculties. In gatherings like this, when love is present, the boundaries between minds become transparent. That’s why you sometimes hear the teaching before it’s spoken – not mysticism, just the natural intimacy of shared being.’"

"Is it valid to take the biblical stories of Jesus performing miracles literally? And if so, what distinguishes performing a miracle from receiving one – is there a different level of identification with God? Rupert says: ‘It’s valid, yes – though some miracles may be metaphorical. But events that don’t conform to the laws of physics as we know them are possible. When a miracle or synchronistic event occurs, there’s a close correspondence between the content of your mind and the manifestation of the world. Usually these realms seem separate, divided by the boundary of perception. But a miracle shows us there’s a deep correspondence between what takes place in the mind and what takes place in the world. If a mind is free of egoic activity and used solely in service of the whole, this correspondence becomes more effective. Imagine a mind with absolutely no reference to itself as a finite mind. That mind has died to itself and becomes the instrument through which the will of God is effected in manifestation. What appears to other minds as miracles is simply the will of God acting through a mind that offers no obstruction.’"

"During meditation, the face of my three-year-old grandson appeared – he looks at me as though I’m his whole world. Then the image changed to my own face, and I completely broke down, realising I am love. I cried for three days. The image faded but the overwhelming feeling remained. Did I understand this correctly? Rupert says: ‘When you look at yourself through your own mind – your memories, your narrative – you see all your shortcomings. But in meditation, you sink below the threshold of habitual narratives into your being. Your being shares none of the qualities of the self you previously thought yourself to be. Being has no form, but in your mind, it took the shape of your grandson – perhaps the person who loves you most. He sees you as you truly are, divested of the narrative you impose upon yourself. Out of compassion, your being took his image and looked back at you to help you see yourself as you truly are. You tasted yourself from that point of view – not how you believe yourself to be, but as this beautiful, sweet, loving being. As a result, the self-criticism and self-doubt released, and your body expressed this through crying.’"

"My teenage son constantly speaks about suffering in the world and asks what the way out is. Should I direct him to the Direct Path or let him find his own way? Rupert says: ‘If he never asked about these matters, I would say don’t speak to him about it, just love and support him. But he asks, so he’s interested in what you have to say. Talk with him, but you have to go to him. You understand his point of view, but he doesn’t yet understand yours – so you must make the concession. You have to become like him so he can become like you. Meet him where he is and speak his language. The Direct Path may be too radical for him – it will seem theoretical and provoke resistance rather than understanding. Be very sensitive. Even here, I’m careful about the degrees of concession I make, but you’ll need to make more of a concession than I do. Take him where he is and just take the first step. The one thing you don’t want to do is provoke resistance – as soon as you do, the door closes.’"