Posts by Charles White11

slydriver17 said:Look, the psychological implication of that comparison is obvious to me; I’m just saying there are far better ways to put it. Where else is a child going to go to bother when they’re trying to sleep peacefully? Some mothers are dealing with postpartum issues and might overreact, but fine—a mother is a mother, and I get the point you're trying to make. It’s not that I don't follow you, but what are you actually getting at here? What happened to you that makes this concept of love haunt you so much?🙄 Yeah, love is the ultimate purpose of everything, it's everywhere, but because of that very same love, people commit the most heinous, despicable acts when it's absent or suppressed. So, what is love, really?😲 😬 😕

Look, friend, don't worry about me; love isn't bothering me one bit.
Love isn't some form of torture, and besides, the Heart is the central theme of this forum anyway.

So, why is it weighing on you so heavily?

P.S. I really don't mean to push your buttons here.

slydriver17 said:Yes, that is obvious. Presumably. After all, this is a thread dedicated to spirituality.😬
How can one discuss God or higher ideals without first grounding oneself in reality to understand who you truly are and what you stand for? Though, I suppose that is a lifelong pursuit for everyone. In truth, focusing on oneself is the only way to effectively engage with "others." Of course, that can be interpreted however one chooses. Others serve as our mirrors, providing feedback about ourselves—regardless of whether we find that feedback pleasant or otherwise. And so it goes.😍 😬

Next time people try to give you their "feedback" regarding your sincere, naive goodwill—the kind that asks for absolutely nothing in return (which is how most of us operate)—don't give it any weight whatsoever.
Dogs bark while the caravan moves on. If they praise you, don't let it go to your head; if they criticize you, just forgive them.
Woe to the person who relies on the opinion of others, because the very person singing your praises today will be the one tearing you down tomorrow.
Think about what the crowd's gaze must have looked like from the cross. What kind of "feedback" were they projecting, and how did that "feedback" reflect upon the face of the dying man?

Once you find the answer to that, you'll understand what a heart truly is.

boldgull19 said:🙂

🙂 says:

slydriver17 said:is also true; if she cries all night, it seems strange if the courtyard grows weary and naps for a few hours straight. That is merely the fear that the child hasn't suffocated. It is love born of fear. But fine. There are all sorts of people and methods out there.
An axe to the leg? War, killing, prison... well, most people realize such things through force. Personally, I have no interest in wars, axe wounds, or those particular methods. Besides, this country is far too obsessed with such nonsense. When persuasion fails, one turns to force. Not to mention the crowd that profits from the suffering of others. Don't worry; there will be more wars and more songs about peace. 😬 🙄 🙄

The heart is such a complicated subject!

The kind of mother I’m talking about would never refer to her own child as some "little animal."
Anyone who has ever felt that profound, soul-stirring connection knows exactly what I mean.

And one more thing: there is no such thing as love born from fear.

slydriver17 said:Fine then. Next time I wrap my car around a guardrail, I’ll be sure to compose a poem just for you regarding the relativity of time.😁
And really, the idea that one must witness their own existence through some specific lens—whether someone tries to convince me that certain groups are inherently better than others—is nothing more than lazy generalization. What am I even supposed to say to that? It will all work itself out eventually.😬

I'm not trying to convince you of anything, my friend; we are simply sharing our own lived truths. The heart is the only subject that matters here.

Here is how those lines resonated with me personally:

It is only when we suffer an irreversible loss that we truly grasp the value of everything we foolishly took for granted. We often treat our loved ones this way, right up until the moment they are gone forever, only to realize it's far too late. We would give anything in the world for just five trivial minutes to tell them how much they meant to us—just five minutes stolen from the countless years we actually had the chance.
Most of our lives are spent drifting through trivialities and being consumed by ourselves.

slydriver17 said:is also true; if she cries all night, it seems strange if the courtyard grows weary and naps for a few hours straight. That is merely the fear that the child hasn't suffocated. It is love born of fear. But fine. There are all sorts of people and methods out there.
An axe to the leg? War, killing, prison... well, most people realize such things through force. Personally, I have no interest in wars, axe wounds, or those particular methods. Besides, this country is far too obsessed with such nonsense. When persuasion fails, one turns to force. Not to mention the crowd that profits from the suffering of others. Don't worry; there will be more wars and more songs about peace. 😬 🙄 🙄

I'm not dwelling on warfare or axes; what actually caught my attention was the raw simplicity of what was written. Only someone who lived through it firsthand could put it that way.
Only a message like that holds any real weight—one forged in actual experience.
When I look closer at those rare moments of truth, I find them heavy with a clarity that honestly takes my breath away.
"...it's only once the prison doors slam shut behind you that you truly begin to contemplate freedom."

I'd bet anything I own that such an experience refined him as a man, and thank Quincy he chose to share it this way. Imagine the loss if he had kept that experience buried in silence.
I think we all have enough wisdom tucked away in the corners of our lives; we just need to drag it out into the light, brush off the dust, and pass it on.

ambereagle642 said:And hey, if you ever do stumble upon something like that, feel free to keep my cut for yourself! 😁

But seriously, what makes you so sure there’s nothing left to be found?

PS. I'm not being sarcastic.

ambereagle642 said:And hey, if you ever do stumble upon something like that, feel free to keep my cut for yourself! 😁

There will be plenty for both of them, and honestly, there'll still be leftovers—anyone who wants a piece is more than welcome to grab it.

ambereagle642 said:I’m probably letting you down here—though maybe that’s for the best—when I say that neither her love nor yours was ever truly selfless or pure; they were both just acting for their own sake, plain and simple...

Hehehe, yeah, sure, just like love is selfless... if I'm gonna stir the pot a little, let me tell you: YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE A CHOICE! I mean, seriously, can you even *choose* to want what you want? 😁

The question isn't *what kind* of meaning... it's whether there's any meaning at all! Only people who are totally detached from life go around asking about meaning...

Whatever, whatever... nature is just the way it is! It might be ugly (for some people), but it's inevitable that idols will start crumbling and the ground will slip right out from under them, hehehe...😁

Oh, believe me, there is plenty—someone clearly sold you a bill of goods!

slydriver17 said:But for me, it isn't "hard" or "easy." I don't know; those are just categories people use to judge one another because it helps them tolerate themselves. This isn't some idyllic escape from paradise.😕 😬

It’s only when things truly get difficult that you actually take a look at what's inside your heart.
You can't have your cake and eat it too.
The heart is like a mother; she only touches you gently once you start weeping for her, and you can't fake that kind of grief because a mother knows her child. As long as you’re sleeping soundly in your cradle—she’ll leave you be, just so she doesn't wake her precious gold!

When you strike your foot
with an axe while splitting wood
you aren't thinking about poetry
or great masterpieces
or politics
you aren't defying God
you feel small as a grain of sand
just waiting for the pain
to subside
When the artillery shells
tear through you from a mortar blast
you aren't worrying about the impression
you leave on women or the national anthem
you scramble under a rock and
wait for the pain to stop
When the doors of the federal prison
finally slam shut behind you
that is when you think about freedom
(Tom Brady - from the collection "Southern Cross", 1998.)

P.S. I’ll let you in on a little secret, just between us... A mother always looks secretly, constantly checking on the cradle, torn between wanting to wake her treasure and waiting patiently for a tiny stir, just so she can pull them into her arms sooner!
Take my word for it!

This forum might actually end up being worth something after all. The topic seems straightforward enough on the surface, but there’s more to it than meets the eye. I've been seeing plenty of genuinely inspiring comments lately. To be honest, when I first stumbled upon this, I assumed it would just be a bunch of empty philosophizing and cheap sentimentality, so I clicked through without much thought... but I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised.

boldnomad59 said:

Blessed is the one who has mastered their own soul;
who can truly feel where the winds of divine grace blow.

Their heart is filled with the Beloved, nothing else remains within,
He flows through their very veins, and in them, He breathes!

The Dervishes cannot sense the scent or color of their own being,
for they belong entirely to Him, intoxicated by His presence!

Their heart is emptied of all desire for crowns or worldly power,
greed and vanity left their essence long ago.

They speak only with Him, they live only for Him;
they seek only from Him, and only to Him do they bow.

Long ago, they lost all sense of self,
living solely for the sake of Love.

They set out on a raw, rugged path, and now they are refined;
having lost their ego, they are consumed by the heart's fire!

Does that work!
That’s just how it is!
If anyone wants more, help yourself!🙂 😘

Take a deep breath, clear your mind,
speak ALLAH from the depths of your heart.
Don't tell anyone your state!
For your secret is His secret, and it belongs to you alone!
😉

My old friend,
you really 🙂 hit home with this one!
I spent seven years traveling through all of Southeast Asia; I crossed India from one end to the other, all the way up to the Himalayas. There isn't a thing I haven't seen or a place I haven't been. I even picked up a language along the way.
Do you know what the most interesting part of the whole story is?
Everything was right under my nose the whole time, yet I didn't see it back then. I wasted so much time wandering through Asia searching for the heart, only to finally find it right here.
There is nothing quite like the true simplicity of our Franciscan brothers or the wisdom found among you Canadian folks.
A few months ago, I was officially in Boston, and I asked a local Bostonian friend to take me over to the Bey's Mosque—I wanted to pick up a CD of Islamic hymns, just to nourish the soul.
I listen to that one, "I stood by the Kaaba," and I just can't stop listening; it moves me to tears.🙂
Bless you,
stay well.

ambereagle642 said:Well, go ahead and say it now, or wait until the very end... just see what's left of you then!?

Ugh, anyone can throw around fancy little phrases and sound deep... but if you don't get it, you just don't get it; while mine and yours are still here, there is no such thing as "love"! — recognizing others within yourself and finding yourself in others is the only real way to love! — but when you get to that point, all that talk of mine... me and all that nonsense just disappears... 😁

Understood!
Though, I wouldn't say there's anything wrong with saying "my" love for "my" mother.
It is sincere and selfless, much like hers was to me!
People often try to scare us with the specter of duality (especially lately with all this esoteric nonsense floating around), but I don't experience it as anything negative.
Ultimately, I am the one who decides which path to take.
A path can be good, or it can be bad—the decision and the responsibility lie solely with me.
That’s really the whole point; if it weren't this way, life would lose all its meaning. If there were no free will inspired by the heart, there would be no longing, and without longing in our chests... well, how poor a mother would be to her friend. People often call that state of emptiness the "dark night of the soul"—it's the reason people jump out of windows or turn to pills.
It is a very thin line....
Anyone who has taken a serious look down that road will know exactly what I'm talking about.

Brian Foster3 said:Exactly! Look, kabbalah isn't the heart itself—it’s the actual tool you use to build a massive, all-encompassing heart, you know? It's about developing this deep love for the entire Creation, that feeling you only catch in those tiny, fleeting moments when everything just seems to click.

You can't claim to have a heart if you're just waiting for someone else to hand it to you.

That is the absolute truth right there.
And once you actually have that massive heart, you give it all away to Everything.
But honestly, who actually possesses that kind of heart?

The heart only truly becomes the Heart once it has been nailed to the cross.
That is where it is realized; anything else is debatable.

Quite simple, really.

ambereagle642 said:to me.. my ...that's exactly what the poet was getting at, haha😁

It's mine, but whose is it really!
Someone once cried out in their final moments: "Father, Father—why have you forsaken me..."
Him, but who else could it be?
What kind of heart is it that has no one left to love?

boldgull19 said:Ampak, you're being inconsistent now... one minute this, then that.

You think there's any truth to the idea that a poet is just someone whose heart is tired, even if it never actually beat?

You’ve certainly given me something to chew on... I suspect that genuine poetry flows from just such a heart. A poet is defined by longing—for what are poems if they aren't an expression of a profound yearning for something lying just beyond the far shore? A heart cannot truly find its voice if it hasn't known exhaustion. We have to experience true longing first; only then will the heart shyly reveal itself. There is no alternative, and there are no shortcuts. A heart won't flutter in someone who simply settles for making compromises with the harsh realities surrounding them. You can't have your cake and eat it too. You know the old saying, "Blessed are the poor in spirit..." To feel even a faint breeze drifting from that distant shore is life's greatest achievement.
This is more or less how it feels when it strikes you out of nowhere, without warning or reason;

When in the crimson dawns
Or in the clear mornings
I wander
Through lush fields
Where a young wind sways the heavy heads
Of tall, golden wheat,
Suddenly I stop;
And behold!
My heart, overflowing with joy, beats loudly
Like a golden watch.

Dragutin Tadijanović

P.S. Whenever I read this, it knocks the wind right out of me. In the old man who penned these lines, I see the outlines of a boy playing and dreaming, listening to the breeze drifting from "the other side." Oh, how I envy him—not for any fame he might have found, but for that pure heart capable of always beating as loud as a golden watch.

ambereagle642 said:The heart is just another word for thought—a synonym for that love which is actually just a synonym for what truly exists, which is us... and so on and so forth, all the way down into those deep, heavy dreams!

Fine! We’ve established that—so where does that leave us?!
Is that really all there is to say about the Heart?
I have a feeling there’s a bit more depth to uncover here....

Talking about it this way feels a lot like trying to describe my own mother using dictionary definitions; saying things like, "A mother is a female-synonym for a being that gives birth, who is a partner-synonym for a spouse..." To me, my mother is so much more than a collection of labels. When I think of her, I don't think of definitions; I remember the warmth in her eyes and the gentle tone of her voice, which held nothing but pure love. And you know what the hardest part of telling you this is? The realization that I never managed to give even a tiny fraction of that love back to her. When that thought hits me, I feel a tightness in my chest and my eyes well up with tears.

PS. I actually quite like that phrase... "down to the deepest sleep."

slydriver17 said:trnde rnde bla bla

When a person decides to engage life with their heart—meaning they actually step into it wide open—it most often results in what I’ve previously described as a collision. It’s a high-stakes gamble: you either emerge transformed or you get crushed by the weight of it all.😬
If you manage to remain open through the impact, you gain an experience that you can finally begin to process intellectually. When things begin from the heart, the intellect is activated. This is the natural, logical progression. You could say you are thinking with your heart while utilizing your intelligence to facilitate a "new cycle." How successfully this cooperation is established determines whether a person can move toward a meaningful direction. Yet, even that direction is essentially introspection. Everything is already present within us; we simply have to arrive at it. So, everything is exactly as it should be—even those tedious emotional outbursts disguised as sweet poetry or whining....
The second issue is that this collision often triggers a defensive closing mechanism. It's the classic "they're out to get me" or "I'll just get burned" mentality. People frequently become terrified of the consequences of being vulnerable, simply because their limited perception tells them that openness only brings hardship. But that isn't the reality. The problem is that the intellect takes total control over the system, and then we wonder why we hit such a wall. And so it goes, for an entire lifetime... trndelamrna... bla bla nonsense.😬

Look, everything you said stands. Life is brutal; there's no debating that. You step out with the raw honesty of a child, and you get smacked upside the head for it. You end up feeling like a lamb surrounded by "predators." If you don't learn how to swim, you're almost certainly going to sink. I'll sign my name to that.
But, strangely enough—despite all that logic and the realization that I'm bound to take a hit—I’ve come to realize that the heart isn't "awakened" by making compromises with the relentless world around us. Instead, it’s awakened by a persistent, selfless naivety that refuses to do any math. This kind of sincerity I'm talking about doesn't come cheap. You don't trade it away, my friend. I'd go as far as to say: "If it weren't for that quality, we wouldn't even exist."

I wouldn't call what you wrote "nonsense"—even if you try to mask it. I have a feeling that what you're writing here is deeply sincere.

I can see it clearly in your reaction to that cheesy bit of fluff: "The weak-hearted drift away on poetry, writing verses and reciting rhymes..."
If it makes you feel any better—it hurt me to write it, too!

slydriver17 said:Honestly, you're just talking nonsense. What is wrong with beautiful poems (or even ugly ones😬) born from deep thought, suffering, joy... everything else that gets stirred up through the process of searching with the heart? You're just talking crap.😬

They aren't lacking anything under God, provided they are truly heartfelt and sincere. And hey, I'll give you credit—the way you defend your stance so "heartily" proves you actually have one!
But a word of caution:
I think we very often mistake cheap emotionalism for actual "heartfeltness." For example: "I love you so much that I’ll eventually kill you just so no one else can have you," or "I'm so preoccupied with the mysticism of love that I don't have time for my own family," or "I've become my own guru and forgotten my parents," and so on.
That has absolutely nothing to do with the heart.

It always seems to come down to this: "A heart belongs to no one if there is no one to give it to."

Whether you agree with me or not, my friend.

PS. Poetry is something without which my life would be gray and unbearable; there are moments when I am overcome by an indescribable emotion, and tears start flowing for no reason at all. If that's the stance you were defending, then we're on the same wavelength. Personally, I identify that profound emotion with the Heart—it hits me so hard sometimes that I'd practically drop my pants in front of a stranger on the street for no reason. So, whenever I feel someone lamenting about "sublime feelings" without giving me any hint that they actually understand what I'm talking about, I tend to write a few angry words...

The heart isn't found in Yoga meditation, nor in Yiva or Shiva
It isn't found in magic, nor in Kabbalah or the Upper world
It isn't Bhakti, and it certainly isn't Shakti
The heart isn't what Carlos Castaneda meant when he spoke of the "path with heart"
Nor is it that idea of "the whole world conspiring to make our deepest desires come true"
The heart isn't the heart being synthesis of 4 great systems, nor an occult revolution, nor the Age of Aquarius
The heart isn't some self-sufficient hermit brooding over bitak or the meaning of existence
It isn't that sudden rush of excitement when we feel we finally "get" someone
It isn't Baba mi Kevalam, it isn't Omkara, and it isn't IstaMantra
The heart isn't located in the East
And it doesn't undergo some mystical rebirth in the West
It isn't Cosmic Consciousness, and it isn't Eckhart's all-pervading love
The heart was my Mother, who always looked out for me
And my sweet grandmother, who told me stories at bedtime whenever I was afraid of the dark
The heart is my hardworking Father, who spent his entire life providing for me
The heart is mine, and I will pass it on to my son
Because...
You cannot truly possess the heart if you don't give it away to someone else
Tadija discovered the truth of the heart when he wrote:

When in the crimson dawns
Or in the clear mornings
I wander
Through verdant fields
Where a youthful breeze sways the heavy heads
Of high yellow grain,
Suddenly I stop;
And lo!
My heart, overflowing with joy, beats loudly
Like a golden watch.