Nemo's Notes has a new home: Nemosnotes.org
All new content (2022 onward) is now hosted there
This is a sample of what you will find there:
Roughly mid-2010 my seeking was abandoned and I willfully re-inserted myself into the Matrix. Well, probably it was a few years earlier when I pissed away what progress and awareness I had accrued, and neglected to quiet the mind to make it permanent. But I continued a few years until mid-2010.
12 years later, Monday November 7th, while mercilessly castigating myself once again for not making a lasagna perfectly, the complete absurdity of casting shame, blame and guilt on myself one more time popped me out of the Matrix. Seeking began again stronger than before. There was new, more mature quality to it.
On Friday Nov 10th, I started earnestly practicing breaking the thought stream and quieting my mind by focusing attention on the itchy, electric feel of aliveness that surrounds my hands and forearms. After a few days this worked to break the thought stream.
Once it was broken what followed was the solving of a conceptual puzzle and with that a reversal of foreground and background and a major personality shift. Then the apparent letting go of a false self.
Saturday November 19, 2022, meditation started on I and Who Am I per Ramana Maharshi.
On Wednesday night, November 23, 2022 (23 !) seeking came to an abrupt end.
See the Nemo’s Notes Posts for day to day journal.
A few words about the pictures at the top.
The first one is an image that came to me on a tough “death march” Project. I clearly saw me – the rabbit – pulling itself out of its own hat. Nice symbolic metaphor for the practice as well.
The second one needs no explanation.
The last one is an image that came to me years ago.
I would also direct you to M. C. Escher’s Print Galley for an excellent woodcut of the Painter in the Picture.
Where would I and this be without music?
The first two stanzas from John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High. Apologies for the minor changes John, I trust you understand.
He was born in the fall of his 63rd year, coming home to a place he’d never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door
When he first came to the mountains, his life was far away on the road and hanging by a song
But the string’s already broken and he doesn’t really care
It keeps changing fast, and it don’t last for long
