Live Like You Come From the Future


Live Like You Come From the Future

“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” – Carl Jung

Ian MacKenzie
Activist Post

APOCALYPTICISM is an actual word. According to Wikipedia, it is “the religious belief that there will be an apocalypse, a term which originally referred to a revelation of God’s will, but now usually refers to belief that the world will come to an end time very soon, even within one’s own lifetime.”

The idea that “the world will end” is not limited to fire and brimstone. Various New Agers believe that 2012 will result in an alignment of the galactic something or other, fulfilling the Hopi prophecy of the Blue Kachina and the reversal of the Earth’s magnetic poles…and stuff…then we will enter a golden age. Sound familiar?

Darin Drda, author of The Four Global Truths, writes:

Although they speak different languages, both tell the same story: the fate of life on Earth will be determined by forces beyond humanity’s control. This idea strikes me as a very dangerous one, certain to accelerate our collective journey down the road to ruin. What’s more, it doesn’t jive with the powerful and paradigm-shifting insight of 20th century physics that reality is participatory.
In 2011, TIME magazine dubbed “The Protestor” Person of the Year, their cover emblazoned with a shrouded figure peering out from behind a kerchief. I believe the more accurate label would have been “The Participant” – to reflect the global awakening that is gaining steam around the globe. From the streets of Cairo, to the towers of Wall St, as Charles Eisenstein intoned “We the people are awakening and we will not go back to sleep.”


The true definition of ‘apocalypse’ is more akin to ‘the lifting of the veil.’ What has long been hidden shall be revealed. Is it possible to understand this potential, and how to apply it, without falling victim to the aforementioned ‘isms of divine destruction, collapse, or extraterrestrial saviours?

Daniel Pinchbeck points the way in his book 2012: The Return of Queztalcoatl. He suggests we are being called to participate in a shift in human consciousness, catalyzed by the crises that appear to be culminating in this age.

Right now, we are being forced to witness the shadow of the psyche projected into material form through systemic misuse of technology, biospheric destruction, and corrupt geopolitics based on entrenched egotism and greed. [...] 
Like the coiled arms of the galaxy, the development of consciousness appears to follow a spiral, sidereal motion, represented by the archetypal symbol of the mandala, which is universal in sacred art. 
Whether found in dreams or wheat fields, mandalas symbolize stages in a psychic process – the helical approach of the psyche toward integration of the ego and the self or higher self, through the difficult work of illuminating the dark matter within the unconscious.
The dark matter of our unconscious has created the human world we inhabit, including the crises that we appear unable to solve. Our old story of the Self, that we are “isolated beings in an indifferent universe” (and all its variations), is breaking down, because, in fact, it was never objectively real in the first place. It was constructed by our level of consciousness.

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The new consciousness struggles to be born.

The Occupy Movement seemingly embodied this desire to participate one again, erupting onto the collective stage late last year. And, yet, even as creative direct-actions continue, many camps are struggling with the old patterns of Separation – the idea that to change the world we must apply Force. If only we could exert enough pressure on the “bad” elements of our society, we can keep humanity’s innate greed and destruction at bay.

But that’s not enough.

Spiritual teacher Thomas Hübl, in a fascinating interview from early on in the Occupations, said “Most of the people want to change fully, but they don’t want to engage fully, because it confronts your life and the depths of who you are,” says. “When people are confronted to make a shift in their consciousness, they stay with the [old patterns].”

This is why the current Occupations are embroiled in conflict. The repressed trauma and old wounds of Separation have now found an outlet, and any attempts to stifle them, even in the name of achieving organizational unity, will meet more resistance.

Thomas continues:

It cannot be a movement that is against something. Most movements that are against something are stuck being against. And they are not for something better. And you need to have more people that are for something better. For the light, not against the structure. 
Around awake people, more awakening will happen. Awakening is spiral. If you spend time with someone who is more awake than you, then chances are your consciousness will be elevated. And if through your practice, you manage to stabilize your consciousness at this level it will become your reality as well. 
What is needed at this time is those who can hold a global awareness. People who are grounded, that are literally coming from the future. They look the same, but they are motivated from a different place. If you are coming from the future, and you embody this, then the future will manifest around you.
This future ‘global awareness’ unfolds from the consciousness of the Connected Self.

Darin Drda explains:

We are not, as the old guard preaches, feeble and passive observers of a fixed, objective order or cogs in a giant, lifeless machine. Nor are we, as the new guard intones, the all-powerful masters of our own destiny, capable of instantly conjuring anything we want out of pixie dust and wishful thinking. We are co-creative participants in a great cosmic adventure, the outcome of which must always remain unknown.
In summary: consciousness creates our world. Our current story is now breaking down, an inevitable conclusion to the unconscious shadows we have collectively repressed. The Apocalypse is about uncovering/reintegrating our projections, essentially forcing us: not to evolve, but to make a CHOICE to evolve.

This choice is crucial. Without choice, we are merely pawns of fate, adrift in an indifferent cosmos.

Instead, we are called to embody this new consciousness, not as an opinion, but as a lived relationship with ourselves and the Other. While we can only do this on an individual level, we need other “awakened beings” to hold us at this higher note until we can stabilize – and then help others do the same.

This is the true meaning of the apt quoted maxim “Be the change you want to see in the world.” We must literally BE from the future – retrieving a higher order of self that does not recreate the past. We must resist the death throes of our old institutions, even while we flow towards our new ones. We must bow humbly to our ancestors and their echoes of pain, include the injustice of the present, and embrace the uncertainty of our Great Transition.

If this sounds ambitious, consider the words of Arundhati Roy: “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”

This article first appeared on Ian's blog here.  Ian MacKenzie is a filmmaker and writer.  He is the co-producer of "Occupy Love" a new feature documentary chronicling the global evolution of the heart. Support the film and earn great rewards. Visit http://www.indiegogo.com/Occupy-Love 

LOS SUTRAS DE BUDA.CONQUISTATE A TI MISMO


LOS SUTRAS DE BUDA.CONQUISTATE A TI MISMO


  Es mejor la conquista de uno mismo que ganar mil batallas.  Así, la victoria será tuya.  Ángeles ni demonios, cielo ni infierno te la pueden arrebatar.

  Recuerda, solamente es tuyo aquello que no te pueden quitar. Nada que se te pueda quitar es tuyo.  No te apegues a ello porque te traerá desgracia. No seas posesivo con algo que se te pueda quitar, porque tu posesividad te creará angustia. Confórmate con lo que es realmente tuyo y nadie  pueda quitarte. No te lo pueden robar, no te pueden atracar, no vas a ir a la bancarrota por ello. Ni siquiera la muerte te lo puede quitar.  Si has conquistado tu consciencia, tu cuerpo será quemado, se hará cenizas, pero tú no te quemarás. Tú seguirás estando para siempre; eres eterno. Pero esa eternidad solamente puedes conocerla cuando te transformas en tu propio maestro.

  EL TEXTO DEL LIBRO:

  Existen unos cuantos acontecimientos significativos en la vida de Alejandro Magno. Uno de ellos  es su encuentro con el gran místico Diógenes. Diógenes yacía tumbado en la orilla de un río tomando el sol. Era por la mañana temprano, con el primer sol, la bonita orilla del río, la tierra fría... Alejandro pasaba por allí; iba hacia la India.  Alguien le dijo: "Diógenes está cerca de aquí y tú siempre estás preguntado por él". Porque Alejandro había escuchado muchas historias. ¡Diógenes realmente merecía el apelativo de hombre! En  el fondo, hasta Alejandro tenía celos de él.  Fue a verlo. Se quedó impresionado con su belleza: desnudo, sin acicalar, sin adornos. El mismo  Alejandro estaba lleno de ornamentos, engalanado todo lo posible, pero frente a Diógenes se le  veía muy pobre. Dijo a Diógenes: "Me siento celoso de ti. Parezco pobre comparado contigo; ¡pero  tú no tienes nada! ¿Cuál es tu riqueza?".  Diógenes le contestó: "No deseo nada; mi tesoro consiste en no desear nada. Soy un maestro por-  que no poseo nada; la falta de posesión es mi maestría, y he conquistado el mundo entero porque  me he conquistado a mí mismo. Mi victoria va conmigo; sin embargo, tu victoria te la quitará la  muerte".  Y cuando Alejandro se estaba muriendo se acordó de Diógenes, de su risa, su paz, su alegría. Recordó que Diógenes tenía algo que va más allá de la muerte, y se percató: "Yo no tengo nada".  Lloró, los ojos se le llenaron de lágrimas y les dijo a sus ministros: "Cuando muera y llevéis  mi cuerpo al cementerio, dejad que mis manos cuelguen por fuera del ataúd".  Los ministros replicaron: "¡Pero esa no es la tradición! ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué semejante petición  tan extraña?".  Alejandro dijo: "Quiero que la gente vea que llegué con las manos vacías y me voy con ellas vacías, y que toda mi vida ha sido un desperdicio. Dejad que mis manos queden suspendidas por fuera del ataúd para que todo el mundo pueda verlo: hasta Alejandro Magno se va con las manos vacías".

Is there a real you? Julian Baggini on TED.com


Is there a real you? Julian Baggini on TED.com

I think this video of philosopher Julian Baggini falls into the category of a TED's Greatest Hits. They posted it this weekend on the Editors' Blog, which is where they generally highlight their best or most popular videos.

Is there a real you? Julian Baggini on TED.com

What makes you, you? Is it how you think of yourself, how others think of you, or something else entirely? At TEDxYouth@Manchester, Julian Baggini draws from philosophy and neuroscience to give a surprising answer. (Recorded at TEDxYouth@Manchester, August 2011, in Miami Beach, Florida. Duration: 12:14)


Watch Julian Baggini’s talk on TED.com, where you can download it, rate it, comment on it and find other talks and performances from our archive of 1,000+ TEDTalks.

ETERNAMENTE DESPIERTO


ETERNAMENTE DESPIERTO

Est.: Deshacernos de nuestro ego para experimentar la conciencia... ¿nos deshacemos de él como si fuera la piel de una naranja?

Adyashanti: Deshacernos de la piel sería algo así como tener un sueño en el que acudieses a un terapeuta, empezaras a sentirte cada vez mejor y creyeras que te estabas encaminando. El despertar es como si estuvieras en el sofá contando tu historia, hecho un lío, sin avanzar mucho, y te dieras cuenta, de pronto, de que todo es un sueño, que no es real, que te lo estás inventando. Eso es el despertar. La diferencia es enorme.

Est.: ¿Me lo he inventado todo?

Adyashanti: Absolutamente todo. Pero la conciencia que está en ti no está soñando. Sólo sueña la mente. Se cuenta historias y quiere saber si estás progresando. Cuando te despiertas comprendes: "Vaya, es un sueño. La mente está creando un estado de realidad alterado, una realidad virtual, pero no es verdad, no es más que pensamiento". El pensamiento podrá contar un millón de historias dentro de la conciencia, pero ésta no cambiará ni un ápice. Lo único que cambia es la sensación de cuerpo. Si cuentas una historia triste, el cuerpo reacciona. Y si te cuentas una historia de exaltación, el cuerpo reacciona. Y si te cuentas una historia de exaltación, el cuerpo se siente engreído, confiado. Pero cuando te des cuenta de que sólo son historias, cuando salgas de la mente, del estado de sueño, experimentarás un gran despertar.  no te despiertas, lo que está despierto desde siempre se hace consciente de sí mismo. Tú eres lo que está eternamente despierto.

Adyashanti
(La Danza Del Vacío)

Adyashanti instructs on how to meditate

Image

Adyashanti instructs on how to meditate

This article in today's Nonduality Highlights (Issue #4483, edited by Mark Otter today) contains a great article about meditation by Adyashanti, who is one of the clearest speakers on contemporary Nonduality practicing these days. His website is here if you want to check out more of his stuff or if you happen to live somewhere that he's giving satsang.

-- Dustin


True meditation has no direction or goal. It is pure wordless surrender, pure silent prayer. All methods aiming at achieving a certain state of mind are limited, impermanent, and conditioned. Fascination with states leads only to bondage and dependency. True meditation is abidance as primordial awareness.

True meditation appears in consciousness spontaneously when awareness is not being manipulated or controlled. When you first start to meditate, you notice that attention is often being held captive by focus on some object: on thoughts, bodily sensations, emotions, memories, sounds, etc. This is because the mind is conditioned to focus and contract upon objects. Then the mind compulsively interprets and tries to control what it is aware of (the object) in a mechanical and distorted way. It begins to draw conclusions and make assumptions according to past conditioning.

In true meditation all objects (thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories, etc.) are left to their natural functioning. This means that no effort should be made to focus on, manipulate, control, or suppress any object of awareness. In true meditation the emphasis is on being awareness; not on being aware of objects, but on resting as primordial awareness itself. Primordial awareness is the source in which all objects arise and subside.

As you gently relax into awareness, into listening, the mind's compulsive contraction around objects will fade. Silence of being will come more clearly into consciousness as a welcoming to rest and abide. An attitude of open receptivity, free of any goal or anticipation, will facilitate the presence of silence and stillness to be revealed as your natural condition.

As you rest into stillness more profoundly, awareness becomes free of the mind's compulsive control, contractions, and identifications. Awareness naturally returns to its non-state of absolute unmanifest potential, the silent abyss beyond all knowing.

SOME COMMON QUESTIONS ABOUT MEDITATION

Q. It seems that the central instruction in True Meditation is simply to abide as silent, still awareness. However, I often find that I am caught in my mind. Is it OK to use a more directed meditation like following my breath, so that I have something to focus on that will help me to not get lost in my mind?

A. It is perfectly OK to use a more directed technique such as following your breath, or using a simple mantra or centering prayer, if you find that it helps you to not get lost in thought. But always be inclined toward less and less technique. Make time during each meditation period to simply rest as silent, still awareness. True Meditation is progressively letting go of the meditator without getting lost in thought.

Q. What should I do if an old painful memory arises during meditation?

A. Simply allow it to arise without resisting it or indulging in analyzing, judging, or denying it.

Q. When I meditate I sometimes experience a lot of fear. Sometimes it overwhelms me and I don't know what to do.

A. It is useful when experiencing fear in meditation to anchor your attention in something very grounding, such as your breath or even the bottoms of your feet. But don't fight against the fear because this will only increase it. Imagine that you are the Buddha under the Bodhi tree, or Christ in the desert, remaining perfectly still and unmoved by the body-mind's nightmare. It may feel very real but it is really nothing more than a convincing illusion.

Q. What should I do when I get an insight or sudden understanding of a situation during meditation?

A. Simply receive what is given with gratitude, without holding onto anything. Trust that it will still be there when you need it.

Q. I find that my mind is spontaneously forming images, almost like a waking dream. Some of them I like, while others are just random and annoying. What should I do?

A. Focus attention on your breathing down in your belly. This will help you to not get lost in the images of the mind. Hold the simple intention to rest in the imageless, silent source prior to all images, thoughts, and ideas.

- Adyashanti

Las plantas hacen mucho más que “vegetar”


Las plantas hacen mucho más que “vegetar”

Telepatía y percepción extrasensorial entre las plantas

Por Pijamasurf

Las plantas acceden a un increíble espectro de biocomunicación que incluye diversos procesos psíquicos como telepatía, inferencia informativa a distancia y empatía a nivel celular por otros seres vivos.

la telepatía entre plantas parece haber sido comprobada

 “Guardamos una mayor conexión con lo invisible que con lo visible”.

Novalis

Todos hemos escuchado hablar de, o incluso hemos podido constatar, la sensibilidad de las plantas: su respuesta, favorable o desfavorable, a estímulos como la música o el color, el hecho de que al hablarles bonito crecerán más rápido y más sanas, o que si las expones a situaciones estresantes ello repercutirá negativamente en su desarrollo. Sin embargo, y a pesar de que existen estudios fundamentados al respecto desde hace medio siglo, no muchas personas están familiarizadas con la percepción extrasensorial que manifiestan estos seres.

Comenzaba la segunda mitad de la década de los sesentas. Muchos se encontraban inmersos en un acelerado desdoblamiento de conciencia (mediado por innumerables dosis de LSD y coloridos estampados), otros se encontraban compitiendo por llegar a la luna, y uno de ellos, Estados Unidos, había iniciado una invasión contra Vietnam, a pesar de no haberse aún sacudido el asesinato de John F Kennedy.  Malcolm X moría asesinado, y los Beatles estaban por lanzar su legendario Sgt Peppers.

Pero allá en 1966 no todo era psicodelia y guerras, también estaba por ocurrir algo increíble en una oscura oficina situada en la 5ta avenida de Nueva York. Este era el espacio de trabajo de Cleve Backster, el más prestigiado examinador de detección de mentiras de todo el país. Una noche como cualquier otra, de pronto, impulsivamente, algo le llevó a colocar los electrodos de su polígrafo a una planta, una Dracaena massangeana. Y lo que sucedería a continuación, provocaría en él una revolución personal: notó que al verter agua sobre la planta, el galvanómetro obtenía una reacción similar a la de una persona experimentando emociones.

Backster sabía que el más intenso estímulo para generar una reacción emocional en una persona es la noción de sentirse amenazada, así que pensó en exponer la hoja conectada a los electrodos, y ahora, con mayor sorpresa, constató que la planta había reaccionado bruscamente ante la sola idea de ser quemada. Tras un par de pruebas más, intentó visualizar nuevamente la flama quemando la hoja, pero ahora no hubo reacción alguna, como si la planta pudiese diferenciar entre una intención real y una fingida.

A partir de esa noche la carrera de Backster experimentaría un giro radical, ya que dedicaría la mayor parte de su tiempo a profundizar en sus investigaciones sobre biocomunicación y, eventualmente, abandonaría las labores que realizaba para agencias gubernamentales, entre ellas la CIA. Y tras esta decisión participaría en decenas de experimentos, parte de ellos publicados en el International Journal of Parapsychology: “Evidence of a Primary Perception in Plant Life,” (vol. 10, no. 4, Winter 1968, pp. 329-348), que terminarían por arrojar resultados aún más sorprendentes los cuales sugieren diversas habilidades extrasensoriales en las plantas:

Vínculos telepáticos

En una ocasión, Backster se percató de que las plantas establecían un lazo especialmente fuerte con las personas que cuidaban de ella, y que este vínculo no dependía del espacio físico que les separaba. Cuando se encontraba fuera de su oficina y le ocurrían eventos excitantes, fuesen positivos o negativos, sus plantas registraban los cambios bruscos en su estado de ánimo o sus ritmos biológicos. Incluso en alguna ocasión, estando en otra ciudad, Backster tropezó en la calle, lastimándose. Al llegar a su hotel llamó a uno de sus asistentes para corroborar si a la hora de su accidente se había registrado alguna reacción en las plantas, y la respuesta fue positiva, justo a la hora en que el cayó, las plantas manifestaron un notable estrés.

Empatía celular

En otro experimento que realizó, ya instalado en la fase en donde monitoreaba a sus plantas las 24 horas del día, Backster notó que al momento de haberse hecho una herida en el dedo, con un cuchillo, la planta había registrado el percance. Lo mismo sucedió cuando una araña que se encontraba en el mismo cuarto fue amenazada por una de las muchas personas que visitaban el laboratorio o, de manera más drástica, cuando frente a una planta alguien arrojó unos cangrejos vivos a un recipiente con agua hirviendo. Con el tiempo, Backster detectaría un patrón en el que la planta reaccionaba cada vez que atestiguaba la muerte de tejido vivo, lo cual lo llevo a teorizar sobre una especie de empatía telepática, a nivel celular, que manifiestan las plantas.

Para explorar esta hipótesis, encontró una manera de adherir electrodos a diversas infusiones celulares, tales como amibas, sangre, y esperma. Tras los experimentos se encontró con que estas infusiones también reaccionaban, por ejemplo el esperma manifestaba una reacción cuando su donante se colocaba junto al tubo que lo contenía. Esta comunicación “parece que no para en el plano celular. Puede que atraviese al molecular, el atómico o incluso el subatómico. Todas aquellas cosas que han sido consideradas, convencionalmente, como inanimadas, podrían tener que ser revaluadas” afirmó el investigador, que eventualmente llamaría a este fenómeno “percepción primaria”.

Desciframiento emocional de información

Otra de las pruebas consistió en adherir los electrodos a una planta y colocar a un colega junto a ella. A continuación le pregunto su año de nacimiento, y Backster enumeró diez fechas distintas, instruyendo a su colega que respondiera, invariablemente, con un No, aunque una de ellas fuese la correcta.  Luego, al observar el galvanómetro, Backster supo cuando su interlocutor había mentido pues la planta se lo había indicado, reaccionando justo en el instante en que una de las respuestas careció de verdad.

Los anteriores son solo algunas de las líneas de investigación que Backster desarrolló. Por cierto, el trabajo de este estadounidense nos remite a la loable labor que el bioquímico y filósofo de Cambridge, Rupert Sheldrake, ha venido realizando en las últimas tres décadas, y la cual ha derivado en la teoría de los “campos morfogenéticos”, una red invisible de hebras a través de la cual se da un permanente intercambio de información entre individuos de la misma especie. Por otro lado, al leer los sucesivos “descubrimientos” o mejor dicho recordatorios, que Backster develaba, es difícil no remitirnos a las entidades metafísicas que, de acuerdo con el gran Paracelso, habitan en los distintos planos naturales, los elementales.

Tras haber sido un profesionista, exitoso, internacionalmente reconocido como examinador de mentiras, luego de volcarse al estudio de las facultades extrasensoriales en las plantas, Backster fue descalificado en innumerables ocasiones (como suele suceder con cualquier investigación que amenaza las fronteras tradicionales de la ciencia). Su carrera con las plantas, o mejor dicho su credibilidad, tuvo múltiples altibajos. Hubo ocasiones en que logró demostraciones exitosas de sus teorías, en público, participando desde en programas de televisión hasta prestigiados recintos académicos, como la Universidad de Yale. Mientras que en otras ocasiones aparentemente fracasó ante la nula reacción de sus queridas plantas, lo cual fue crudamente aprovechado por sus críticos.

La mayoría de las culturas actualmente dominantes, o al menos un sector considerable dentro de ellas, parece haber descuidado, tristemente, su relación con un personaje que invariablemente catalizó, a lo largo de la historia, la relación del ser humano con la “realidad”: la naturaleza. Ello a pesar de que prácticamente todas las tradiciones místicas, las religiones, y en si los pilares del desarrollo de nuestra especie, postularon la resonancia con el entorno natural como la máxima premisa evolutiva.

Y tal vez por esta razón es que actualmente sufrimos una especie de amnesia ante las grandes lecciones de la naturaleza, aquellas que emulaban grandes personajes como Paracelso, Novalis, Goethe, o los antiguos alquimistas. Y si recordamos que nuestro concepto de magia emerge a partir de una interacción armónica con las leyes naturales, catalizada a través de una intensión proyectada con precisión, resulta fácil concebir la desbordante sabiduría frente a la cual nos hemos, culturalmente, auto-marginado.

Pero más allá de cuestionar o de entregarnos efusivamente a los experimentos del buen Backster, aclarando que en lo personal me parecen altamente estimulantes, y que inclusive tras conocerlos me es difícil interactuar con las plantas de la misma manera en que lo hacía antes, considero pertinente la siguiente invitación:

Dejemos pues que las plantas hablen, sacudamos los prejuicios, los tabúes y los temores, que empantanan nuestro diálogo con el entorno, purifiquemos nuestra receptividad frente a la sabia natura,  y tengamos presenta la enseñanza de Dogen Zenji, el impecable maestro Zen del siglo XIII: “Aquellos que trabajan con plantas y con árboles, si lo hacen con sinceridad, alcanzarán la iluminación”.

Twitter del autor: @paradoxeparadis / Lucio Montlune

* Si te interesó este tema te recomiendo que leas “The Secret language of Plants” 

Fuente: Pijamasurf

Visto en Omniverso Fractal

-

Las plantas siempre han demostrado ser MUCHO más inteligentes que la especie humana.

Freeman

Original Page: http://liberacionahora.wordpress.com/2012/01/20/las-plantas-hacen-mucho-mas-que-vegetar/



http://fichas.infojardin.com/foto-perennes-anuales/mimosa-pudica.jpg

Foto de Sensitiva


Saber crecer. Resiliencia y espiritualidad


Saber crecer. Resiliencia y espiritualidad

Saber crecer. Resiliencia y espiritualidad

Por: Ediciones Urano Colombia. Admiramos a quienes son capaces de superar las circunstancias más adversas, a quienes convierten un suceso especialmente dramático en una oportunidad para crecer. “Resiliencia”, término utilizado originalmente por la física para identificar la cualidad de algunos materiales para resistir y recuperarse ante el embate de una fuerza externa, es un término que actualmente se utiliza tanto en psiquiatría como en la psicología positiva para describir la capacidad de una persona de sobreponerse a la adversidad y crecer gracias a ella. Saber crecer nos explica de manera sencilla todas aquellas características psico-emocionales y espirituales que nos dan fortaleza y nos permiten sobreponernos a las crisis y crecer a través de ellas. Así pues, ante todo este libro te ayudará a reconocer y utilizar tu capacidad de ser resiliente y tus valores espirituales para reconstruir tu vida aun ante las tormentas más destructivas. Autor: Rivas Lacayo Rivas Rosa Argentina. 

Nota: escríbanos a contacto@librosyletras.com su desea adquirir el libro.

Saber crecer. Resiliencia y espiritualidad

"I Have Seen the Mountaintop:" A Vision of the Possible


"I Have Seen the Mountaintop:" A Vision of the Possible

Today is Martin Luther King's birthday. This great soul was a visionary. What is a visionary? Visionaries are those rare and inspired individuals who see great promise and imminent potentials for human consciousness and culture that most of us haven't even begun to imagine yet.

They see far beyond the present to a future that has yet to be created. For them, in a sense, that future already exists because their awareness is illuminated by inspiring and compelling images of the possible. Unless we, like Dr. King and other great spiritually awakened beings, invoke that same capacity to see and intuit beyond where we already have come, it is unlikely that our lives will be expressions of anything other than the status quo.

I was recently a speaker at a conference organized around the work of the great contemporary American philosopher Ken Wilber, known for boldly attempting to integrate all human knowledge into one coherent philosophical system. He is also known for the sheer volume of his work (his eight-volume Collected Works have been published in his own lifetime.) At one point during the conference, he was asked about his own creative process and he described how when he was a young man, he would get up at 3 AM every day and write for twelve hours straight without stopping, not even for food or to brush his teeth. It is difficult to imagine what would compel a human being to drive themselves that hard without being in touch with a vision that is inspiring them to reach way beyond the norm.

Dr. King, like Mahatma Gandhi before him, knew that his brave and heroic public challenge to racism and segregation would very likely lead to his assassination. But his vision of the possible--"I have seen the mountaintop"--drove him to keep pushing against all odds. A visionary is one who is no longer merely living to get and to have for him or herself, or tenaciously trying to preserve and protect what has already been. Visionaries are living for what has not yet occurred because their attention is riveted by the promise of the possible--that future is already radiant and alive in the field of their imagination. Because they experience that future--and feel its promise on a daily basis--they live in a state of perpetual discontent, simultaneously deeply inspired and ever-unsatisfied.

How many of us have the courage and the heart to live that way? To live for the future like those great souls who have given rise to the higher values of our shared culture means we must be willing to sacrifice a perennial illusion. That illusion is the promise of deep and abiding contentment in the present moment unsupported by the liberating power of transcendent ideals or aspirations. This is an empty promise that we keep alive by continually hoping to find happiness through the gratification of our personal desires and by knowingly or unknowingly allowing ourselves to conform to the superficial values of our restless and confused culture.

In our postmodern era--"the age of the individual"--spirituality tends to be more about "me" and "my happiness" than where we are going and what it's going to take to get there. I think we forget that our spiritual heroes were almost always brave souls who were willing to make the greatest sacrifices because of what they saw in the eye of their spiritual intuition--their vision of the possible.

Without awakening to a powerful and inspired vision of what our shared world could be, I wonder if it's possible to experience true happiness for more than a fleeting instant? Two and a half thousand years ago, the Buddha told us that everything is changing all the time, and if we want to be enlightened beings, we mustn't allow ourselves to be attached to anything other than that ungraspable emptiness that is the very ground of reality itself. But now, in the twenty-first century, what if, instead, we allow ourselves to become attached to a glorious and inspired vision of the possible, one that lies always beyond our grasp? One that is always pulling us beyond the present moment and beyond ourselves, to an ever-greater perfection at which, paradoxically, we will never ultimately arrive.

In an evolving universe, the goalposts are always moving forward, always moving upward. Great souls and inspired visionaries change and improve and enlighten the world because their attention is always riveted to those goalposts. That's a new way to understand the traditional spiritual ideal of being "in the world but not of it." It means we are very much in the world of time, space, and location but the attention of our inner eye, heart, and mind is utterly entranced by what lies far, far beyond it.

Dr. King's infectious joy, compassion, and deep love for humanity was not only the expression of his "self actualization" as an individual, but more importantly, it was the reflection of what he could see for all of us in a future that hadn't arrived yet. Just imagine how much love we would experience for each other and for our world in the present moment if our attention was illuminated by and focused upon what was possible in our future.

It's not difficult to complain or feel overwhelmed by the challenges that we face as individuals and as a global culture. But how many of us are willing to stretch and reach beyond our normal boundaries in order to catalyze genuine breakthroughs to new orders of possibility and potential that most people can't begin to imagine? Spiritual development in our brave new world might need to become less about being and more about seeing--seeing and imagining what's possible, just like Dr. King did. And by having the courage to allow that vision to awaken us from the slumber of stagnation and small-mindedness, we can reach without restriction for a better world.

The story of the self - Life and style


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Guardian Memory Guide
Photograph: Jill Mead/Tricia de Courcy Ling

Memory is our past and future. To know who you are as a person, you need to have some idea of who you have been. And, for better or worse, your remembered life story is a pretty good guide to what you will do tomorrow. “Our memory is our coherence,” wrote the surrealist Spanish-born film-maker, Luis Buñuel, “our reason, our feeling, even our action.” Lose your memory and you lose a basic connection with who you are.

It’s no surprise, then, that there is fascination with this quintessentially human ability. When I cast back to an event from my past – let’s say the first time I ever swam backstroke unaided in the sea – I don’t just conjure up dates and times and places (what psychologists call “semantic memory”). I do much more than that. I am somehow able to reconstruct the moment in some of its sensory detail, and relive it, as it were, from the inside. I am back there, amid the sights and sounds and seaside smells. I become a time traveller who can return to the present as soon as the demands of “now” intervene.

This is quite a trick, psychologically speaking, and it has made cognitive scientists determined to find out how it is done. The sort of memory I have described is known as “autobiographical memory”, because it is about the narrative we make from the happenings of our own lives. It is distinguished from semantic memory, which is memory for facts, and other kinds of implicit long-term memory, such as your memory for complex actions such as riding a bike or playing a saxophone.

When you ask people about their memories, they often talk as though they were material possessions, enduring representations of the past to be carefully guarded and deeply cherished. But this view of memory is quite wrong. Memories are not filed away in the brain like so many video cassettes, to be slotted in and played when it’s time to recall the past. Sci-fi and fantasy fictions might try to persuade us otherwise, but memories are not discrete entities that can be taken out of one person’s head, Dumbledore-style, and distilled for someone else’s viewing. They are mental reconstructions, nifty multimedia collages of how things were, that are shaped by how things are now. Autobiographical memories are stitched together as and when they are needed from information stored in many different neural systems. That makes them curiously susceptible to distortion, and often not nearly as reliable as we would like.

We know this from many different sources of evidence. Psychologists have conducted studies on eyewitness testimony, for example, showing how easy it is to change someone’s memories by asking misleading questions. If the experimental conditions are set up correctly, it turns out to be rather simple to give people memories for events that never actually happened. These recollections can often be very vivid, as in the case of a study by Kim Wade at the University of Warwick. She colluded with the parents of her student participants to get photos from the undergraduates’ childhoods, and to ascertain whether certain events, such as a ride in a hot-air balloon, had ever happened. She then doctored some of the images to show the participant’s childhood face in one of these never-experienced contexts, such as the basket of a hot-air balloon in flight. Two weeks after they were shown the pictures, about half of the participants “remembered” the childhood balloon ride, producing some strikingly vivid descriptions, and many showed surprise when they heard that the event had never occurred. In the realms of memory, the fact that it is vivid doesn’t guarantee that it really happened.

Even highly emotional memories are susceptible to distortion. The term “flashbulb memory” describes those exceptionally vivid memories of momentous events that seem burned in by the fierce emotions they invoke. In the aftermath of the terrorist attacks of 9/11, a consortium of researchers mobilised to gather people’s stories about how they heard the news. When followed up three years later, almost half of the testimonies had changed in at least one key detail. For example, people would remember hearing the news from the TV, when actually they initially told the researchers that they had heard it through word of mouth.

What accounts for this unreliability? One factor must be that remembering is always re-remembering. If I think back to how I heard the awful news about 9/11 (climbing out of a swimming pool in Spain), I know that I am not remembering the event so much as my last act of remembering it. Like a game of Chinese whispers, any small error is likely to be propagated along the chain of remembering. The sensory impressions that I took from the event are likely to be stored quite accurately. It is the assembly – the resulting edit – that might not bear much resemblance to how things actually were.

When we look at how memories are constructed by the brain, the unreliability of memory makes perfect sense. In storyboarding an autobiographical memory, the brain combines fragments of sensory memory with a more abstract knowledge about events, and reassembles them according to the demands of the present. The memory researcher Martin Conway has described how two forces go head to head in remembering. The force of correspondence tries to keep memory true to what actually happened, while the force of coherence ensures that the emerging story fits in with the needs of the self, which often involves portraying the ego in the best possible light.

One of the most interesting writers on memory, Virginia Woolf, shows this process in action. In her autobiographical essay, A Sketch of the Past, she tells us that one of her earliest memories is of the pattern of flowers on her mother’s dress, seen close-up as she rested on her lap during a train journey to St Ives. She initially links the memory to the outward journey to Cornwall, noting that it is convenient to do so because it points to what was actually her earliest memory: lying in bed in her St Ives nursery listening to the sound of the sea. But Woolf also acknowledges an inconvenient fact. The quality of the light in the carriage suggests that it is evening, making it more likely that the event happened on the journey back from St Ives to London. The force of correspondence makes her want to stick to the facts; the force of coherence wants to tell a good story.

How many more of our memories are a story to suit the self? There can be no doubt that our current emotions and beliefs shape the memories that we create. It is hard to remember the political beliefs of our pasts, for example, when so much has changed in the world and in ourselves. How many of us can accurately recall the euphoria at Tony Blair’s election in 1997? When our present-day emotions change, so do our memories. Julian Barnes describes this beautifully in his Booker-winning The Sense of an Ending, when a shift in his protagonist Tony’s feelings towards his former lover’s parents unlocks new memories of their relationship. “But what if, even at a late stage, your emotions relating to those long-ago events and people change? … I don’t know if there’s a scientific explanation for this … All I can say is that it happened, and that it astonished me.”

Of all the memories we cherish, those from childhood are possibly the most special. Few of us will have reliable memories from before three or four years of age, and recollections from before that time need to be treated with scepticism. When you think about the special cognitive tricks involved in autobiographical memory, it’s perhaps no surprise that it takes a while for children to start doing it right. Many factors seem to be critical in children’s emergence from childhood amnesia, including language and narrative abilities. When we are able to encode our experience in words, it becomes much easier to put it together into a memory. Intriguingly, though, the boundary of childhood amnesia shifts as you get closer to it. As a couple of recent studies have shown, if you ask children about what they remember from infancy, they remember quite a bit further back than they are likely to do as adults.

There are implications to the unreliability of childhood memories. A recent report commissioned by the British Psychological Society warned professionals working in the legal system not to accept early memories (dating from before the age of three) without corroborating evidence. One particular difficulty with early memories is their susceptibility to contamination by visual images, such as photographs and video. I’m sure that several of my childhood memories are actually memories of seeing myself in photos. When we look back into the past, we are always doing so through a prism of intervening selves. That makes it all the more important for psychologists studying memory to look for confirming evidence when asking people to recall their pasts.

And yet these untrustworthy memories are among the most cherished we have. Memories of childhood are often made out to have a particular kind of authenticity; we think they must be pure because we were cognitively so simple back then. We don’t associate the slipperiness of memory with the guilelessness of youth. When you read descriptions of people’s very early memories, you see that they often function as myths of creation. Your first memory is special because it represents the point when you started being who you are. In Woolf’s case, that moment in her bed in the St Ives nursery was the moment she became a conscious being. “If life has a base that it stands upon,” she wrote, “if it is a bowl that one fills and fills and fills – then my bowl without a doubt stands upon this memory.”

What should we do about this troublesome mental function? For one thing, I don’t think we should stop valuing it. Memory can lead us astray, but then it is a machine with many moving parts, and consequently many things that can go awry. Perhaps even that is the wrong way of looking at it. The great pioneer of memory research, Daniel Schacter, has argued that, even when it is failing, memory is doing exactly the thing it is supposed to do. And that purpose is as much about looking into the future as it is about looking into the past. There is only a limited evolutionary advantage in being able to reminisce about what happened to you, but there is a huge payoff in being able to use that information to work out what is going to happen next. Similar neural systems seem to underpin past-related and future-related thinking. Memory is endlessly creative, and at one level it functions just as imagination does.

That’s how I think we should value memory: as a means for endlessly rewriting the self. It’s important not to push the analogy with storytelling too far, but it’s a valuable one. Writing about her novel, Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel has explained how she brought the protagonist Thomas Cromwell alive for the reader by giving him vivid memories. When writers create imaginary memories for their characters, they do a similar kind of thing to what we all do when we make a memory. They weave together bits of their own personal experience, emotions and sensory impressions and the minutiae of specific contexts, and tailor them into a story by hanging them on to a framework of historical fact. They do all that while making them fit the needs of the narrative, serving the story as much as they serve truth.

To emphasise its narrative nature is not to undermine memory’s value. It is simply to be realistic about this everyday psychological miracle. If we can be more honest about memory’s quirks, we can get along with it better. When I think back to my first attempt at solo swimming, it doesn’t bother me that I have probably got some of the details wrong. It might be a fiction, but it’s my fiction, and I treasure it. Memory is like that. It makes storytellers of us all.

Charles Fernyhough is a writer and psychologist. His book on autobiographical memory, Pieces of Light: How we Imagine the Past and Remember the Future, is published by Profile Books in July. You can pre-order it here. He is the author of The Baby in the Mirror (Granta), a reader in psychology at Durham University and a faculty member of the School of Life. You can follow him on Twitter at @cfernyhough


View full page: www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/jan/13/our-memories-tell-our-story

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Returning to the Light





Cheryl Terrace by Cheryl Terrace | January 16th, 2012 | No Comments
topic: Eco Decorating, Green Living, Health & Wellness, Personal Growth


Winter Light

I find color fascinating. The light frequencies we experience as color define our world in wondrous ways. Visualize an azure ocean, a verdant forest or a crimson sunset — these are all examples of color environments, which positively influence our emotions and restore our health.

As an interior designer, I know the power color has in defining a space and ‘creating a mood.’ We have all experienced that instant chill when entering
a ‘cold room,’ which has nothing to do with its temperature. Conversely, we automatically feel more relaxed and engaged in a warm-hued environment.
Think of a dining room painted a luscious burnt umber (dark red orange), such as Pantone’s color of 2012: Tangerine Tango.

I’m also mesmerized by the blue winter hues that abound right now and their accompanying reflections in snow — so dreamlike and otherworldly. This is the time of year we ‘go inside,’ both physically and figuratively. It is a wonderful time to do what the earth does: retreat deep within and cultivate inner renewal (hence, the perfect time for resolutions).

Unfortunately, it is also during these short days when many of us experience the ‘winter blues.’ Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is now recognized as a common
disorder, affecting some people severely. But there are ways, other than jetting off to a tropical island (which I also recommend), to make these cold days
more bearable.

  • Light therapy is a proven treatment for SAD. Many studies show that most of the U.S. population lacks vitamin D, known as the sunlight vitamin, and light therapy can be a good way to get more of it. This nutrient is needed at proper levels for almost every tissue in the body, including the brain, heart, muscles and immune system. Supplements are another easy way to get the correct amount and start feeling better.
  • Light a fire. Few things trigger passionate, primordial feelings in human beings the way fire does. We symbolically honor the return of the light and new beginnings with candles and fireplaces in our homes. Easy and romantic!
  • Another great way to lighten up, both figuratively and literally, is to do more yoga! I incorporate a few extra Sun Salutations in the winter, which creates body heat and expresses reverence for the life-giving solar energy. It is impossible to feel cold with an open (warm) heart, which is what yoga is all about. The gesture/salutation Namaste means ‘I bow to the light in you, which is also in me,’ a beautiful truth that we are all one when we live from the heart.

It may be hard to believe, with this being the coldest month of the year, but sunlight is growing stronger day by day. The more we connect and honor the natural rhythms of the seasons, the more we increase the light within us. Let this winter be an extraordinary time to listen to your heart-fire and tend your own sacred light.

Warm Home Blessings.

Original Page: http://blog.gaiam.com/blog/returning-to-the-light/