I am not jealous I am turned on

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@tierriita
I am not jealous I am turned on

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"They are the privileged lovers who create a new world with their eyes of fiery passion." ― Rumi Mystic Lovers Talon Abraxas On the surface this reads as a love poem. And it is. But Rumi was a Sufi master, and in the Sufi tradition, love is not a feeling between two people. It is a cosmic principle. The engine of existence itself. When Rumi speaks of the beloved, he is speaking on multiple levels simultaneously. The human beloved, yes. But more fundamentally, the divine beloved, the presence that animates all of creation. And his central teaching, the one that runs through every poem, every whirling, every moment of his transformed life, is that this presence is not located somewhere else. It is not in a distant heaven or a future moment of enlightenment. It is here, now, in everything that exists, waiting to be recognized. The mystics of every tradition have called this realization by different names. The Hindus call it the recognition of Brahman in all things. The Christian mystics speak of finding God in all creatures. The Hermetic tradition teaches that the divine is equally present in every particle of existence. Rumi calls it seeing the beloved everywhere, because for him the entire universe had become the face of the one he loved. This is not a metaphor for optimism. It is a description of a specific state of consciousness that becomes available when the self stops insisting on its own separateness. When the membrane between the observer and the observed becomes permeable. When love expands beyond its object and becomes the medium through which you perceive everything. At that point, you do not search for the sacred. You cannot look anywhere and fail to find it. The flower, the moon, the night sky, the ground beneath your feet. All of it. All of it the face of the one you love. Pyramid Consciousness
Found this lovely table in an astrology book
Through the Looking Glass: A Search for the Self in the Mirror of Relationships by Richard Idemon
Maybe the self is not discovered but slowly made habitable
Pretty crazy how wind is invisible yet sporadically says hello through moving objects

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a lot of your suffering comes from treating your nature like a problem to manage instead of a design to understand
I love when the mask falls and the facade can’t be sustained any longer, and they’re crushed under the pressure of their own lies. The only thing that can save them now is a spiritual awakening — they have it in them, I know they do.
When I’m reading back something I wrote I need absolute silence. It’s a holy experience for me. Even if it is just an email.
Hehe
Allan O'Marra (Canadian b. 1947), The Bather (La Baigneuse), 2014,. Oil and Acrylic on canvas

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Once upon a time, I believed forcing myself was a sign of strength. In actuality, it built resentment. I wanted a new approach, an easeful approach, one where I felt all of my being beckoned to the act.
So I started journaling (& dumping) my truest feelings onto a page so as to clear its residence from my body, and chanting aum first thing in the morning to feel the expansiveness of the universe inside of me, and reading beautiful poetry that wells me to tears.
I have found that all these things combined soften the image of myself in my mind & return to me a voice of love. It is this voice of love that melts away the self doubt, the criticism and the shame that id otherwise use to push me into action, all in the name of strength. And it is this voice of love that turns my journey into a more easeful one.
inbeautmag
2023-09-15
How is it that I have landed here in this life with this soul? Did I choose it or did it choose me? I must say — I am having many moments of self-doubt as I write this, but I know it is safe to proceed.
In my meditation, I saw her again — the broken fragmented soul stuck in an eternal state of despair. She scares me when I see her. She looks like she climbed out of a haunted well.
Who is she? Why does she make herself known to me? I’ve seen her many times before. Always hurt looking, scared looking, untrusting, even of me.
I don’t stay in her energy for too long because my thoughts move me away. I can’t say if she wants to hurt me or not. A part of me wants to think that is not her intention. A part of me believes that if I stay with her long enough I can help her. But I can’t know for sure.
Maybe she is my shadow. She does sort of resemble me, and she does resemble the energetic frequency of everything I have struggled with; self-hatred, brokenness, despair. A deep, deep sorrow with no beginning and no end.
She looks like she lives in murky waters. I see thick, scaly, murky skin, black siren hair, big pupils with no iris.
I wonder if I will ever get to see a light shine through her cracks. 
'Love Letter'. Rebeca Fleur. 2025.

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btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
One day you’ll have whatever it is you’re now so confusedly seeking. That kind of calm that comes from knowing oneself and others. But you can’t rush the arrival of that state of mind. There are things you only learn when no one teaches them. And that’s how it is with life. There’s even more beauty in discovering it for yourself, in spite of the suffering.
Clarice Lispector, from “Gertrudes asks for advice” in The Complete Stories