And if the Universe, as scientists believe, is a self-sufficient and self-organizing system filled with Primordial Consciousness, then it is quite appropriate to say that in this case the Universe also has a Unified Cosmic Rhythm (what spiritual traditions call the Plan or Providence).
That which fits into it enters into resonance with it through harmonization and attunement to the Unified Whole striving for perfection, and instantly receives support.
Everything that does not correspond in rhythm or inner resonance, everything imperfect, is destroyed under the influence of the forces of Chaos.
Andrey Gerasimov, “The Body of Light”
Everything is different here. It is impossible to say exactly how it is “different,” but the fact that things are different here is sensed immediately and without a doubt. Simply, alongside “the way it has always been,” something that is “different” begins to exist. These two realities overlap and merge into one unified present, which I see and perceive. I “immerse myself.” The world expands, and all boundaries and confines disappear. I feel life; I feel it with my heart and soul. I feel good—infinitely good...
S. V. Veretennikov, “Another Reality”.
Come home to yourself. Study yourself. I did not say without reason that self-observation is an incredibly pleasant and completely unusual thing. After some time, you will no longer need to make any effort: when your illusions dissipate, something that cannot be described in words will begin to reveal itself to you. People call it happiness. Everything in your life will change, and you will become addicted to wakefulness.
Anthony de Mello, “Awareness”
Self-observation leads a person to understand the need to change themselves. By observing themselves, a person notices that self-observation itself produces certain changes in their inner processes. They begin to understand that self-observation is a tool for changing oneself, a means of awakening. By observing themselves, they seem to cast a ray of light onto their inner processes, which until then had taken place in complete darkness, and under the influence of this light, the processes begin to change.
P. D. Ouspensky (“In Search of the Miraculous”)
Everything was green in the Emerald City, and even the sun shone with green rays.
Fa-Ra-Ma-nt led the travelers along the green streets, and they found themselves before a large green building located in the center of the city. This was the palace of the Great Sage and Wizard Good-Win.
Ellie's heart trembled with excitement and fear as they walked through the palace park, decorated with fountains and flowerbeds; her fate would now be decided—she would now learn whether Wizard Goodwin would send her back home, or whether she had come here in vain after striving so hard and overcoming so many trials.
Goodwin's palace was well protected from enemies: it was surrounded by a high wall, and in front of it was a water-filled moat, over which a bridge could be thrown when necessary.
The Wizard of the Emerald City A. Volkov
Illustrator L. Vladimirsky
There is a mystery in everything. And if it did not exist, life would be like bread without salt. And a bland life makes the passage of time burdensome.
Human rumor adds many embellishments to a phenomenon or event, but this does not diminish it; rather, it is perceived as a fairy tale, which has always served as a way to teach children and pass knowledge on to subsequent generations.
Konstantin Ustinov. "Rassanta, Rasseniya, Rus'". (A collection of essays based on notes)
Oh, my sweet childhood! A golden, wonderful time! Life revealed itself for the first time—mysteriously and enticingly—and it was so sweet to make its acquaintance. Back then, behind every bush and every tree, it seemed as though someone else lived there, mysterious and unknown to us; the fairy-tale world merged with reality...
F. M. Dostoevsky, "The Insulted and Humiliated"
But there is another mysterious realm that has hardly been studied by mystics and psychologists. It is a space where there are no visible images, only the touch of certain sensations. A person sees nothing, but feels with the heart or spirit the approach of something uniquely ineffable, possessing a far greater variety of evoked states than the visual world. There, sensations acquire the quality of incredible shades and experiences, touching unknown realms of the boundlessness of consciousness.
Konstantin Ustinov. "Man Existing."
I look at the world with childlike spontaneity. And I have no words to describe what I see. I see something unique and unrepeatable, something dynamic and whole, not divided into parts. A wave of awe washes over me. And if someone were to ask at that moment, “What do you see?”—how, in your opinion, would I answer? I would have no words. Reality cannot be described in words.
Anthony de Mello. "Awareness."
Admiring the flight of birds, I experienced the same feeling; it united me, the birds, the wind, the sun, and the whole world into a single whole. This feeling can be called the feeling of the wholeness of being.
I experienced the feeling of the wholeness of being when, at night, I watched the glowing silhouettes of dolphins swimming from the boat. They swam, guided by their instincts, protecting a calf in the center of the pod, yet I felt that the dolphins were enjoying the sea, the warmth, their speed, and also the fact that they were together.
I experienced it again when my little son, wrapping his tiny arms around me, fell asleep beside me with his cheek pressed against mine; then the entire Universe concentrated within us and turned into a protective cocoon. Bak Viktoria Fyodorovna, "The Feeling of the Wholeness of Being."
Adults are very fond of numbers. When you tell them that you’ve made a new friend, they never ask about what matters most. They never say: “What does his voice sound like? What games does he like to play? Does he catch butterflies?” They ask: “How old is he? How many brothers does he have? How much does he weigh? How much does his father earn?” And after that they imagine that they know the person. When you tell adults: “I saw a beautiful house made of pink brick, with geraniums in the windows and pigeons on the roof,” they can’t imagine the house at all. You have to tell them: “I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs,” and then they exclaim: “How beautiful!”
In the same way, if you tell them: “Here is proof that the Little Prince really existed—he was very, very charming, he laughed, and he wanted to have a sheep. And anyone who wants a sheep surely exists,” if you say that, they will merely shrug their shoulders and look at you as if you were a foolish infant. But if you tell them: “He came from a planet called asteroid B-612,” that will convince them, and they won’t bother you with questions. That’s the way adults are. You shouldn’t be angry with them. Children should be very patient with adults.
But we who understand what life is—we, of course, laugh at numbers and figures! I would gladly have begun this story as a fairy tale. I would have liked to begin it like this:
“Once upon a time there was a Little Prince. He lived on a planet that was only a little larger than he was, and he badly needed a friend…” Those who understand what life is would immediately see that this was much closer to the truth.
“Now do you understand who the world’s greatest expert at mischief is?” asked Karlsson, swinging from the chandelier as if it were a swing.
“But what if it breaks?!”
“Listen, wouldn’t that be great? Let’s try it, shall we?”
“Yes… But what about Mum? … And Dad too.”
“Nonsense,” said Karlsson. “It’s all in a day’s work.”
And he began swinging with all his might…
The Little One wanted Karlsson to be his friend for the rest of his life. So, when the chandelier broke, he pretended not to be upset in the slightest. "The Little One and Karlsson" by Astrid Lindgren
They met on one of those unfortunate days when being a Little Boy brought no joy at all, although usually being a Little Boy is wonderful. After all, the Little Boy is the family favorite, and everyone spoils him as much as they can. But that day, everything went wrong. Mother scolded him for tearing his trousers again, Bethan shouted, “Wipe your nose!”, and Father was angry because the Little Boy had come home late from school.
“Wandering the streets!” Father said.
“Wandering the streets!” But Father did not know that on the way home, the Little Boy had met a puppy. A sweet, wonderful puppy that sniffed the Little Boy and wagged its tail amiably, as if it wanted to become his puppy.
If it had been up to the Little Boy, the puppy’s wish would have come true at once. But the trouble was that Mother and Father absolutely did not want to keep a dog in the house. Besides, some woman suddenly appeared from around the corner and shouted, “Ricky! Ricky! Over here!”—and then it became perfectly clear to the Little Boy that this puppy would never become his puppy.
“It looks as though you’ll live your whole life without a dog,” the Little Boy said bitterly when everything had turned against him. “You have Father, Mum; and Bosse and Bethan are always together, too. But I—I have no one!..”
“Dear Little Boy, you have all of us!” Mother said.
“I don’t know…” the Little Boy said even more bitterly, because suddenly it seemed to him that he truly had no one and nothing in the world.
Still, he did have his own room, and he went there.
It was a clear spring evening. The windows were open, and the white curtains swayed slowly, as if greeting the little pale stars that had just appeared in the clear spring sky. The Little Boy leaned against the windowsill and looked out of the window. He thought about the wonderful puppy he had met that day. Perhaps the puppy was lying in a basket in the kitchen now, while some boy—not the Little Boy, but another—sat beside him on the floor, stroked his shaggy head, and said, “Ricky, you’re a wonderful dog!”
The Little Boy sighed heavily. Suddenly, he heard a faint buzzing. It grew louder and louder, and then, strange as it may seem, a stout little man flew past the window. It was Karlsson, who lives on the roof. But at that time the Little Boy did not know him yet.
And suddenly, far away between the trees, a little light flashed—like a star caught among the branches. The girl got up and walked toward the light. She sank into snowdrifts and climbed over fallen trees. “If only,” she thought, “the light doesn’t go out!” But it did not go out; it burned ever brighter. Soon the smell of warm smoke filled the air, and she could hear twigs crackling in the fire. The girl quickened her pace and came out into a clearing. And there she stood, transfixed.
The clearing was bright, as if lit by the sun. In the middle of it, a large bonfire was burning, reaching almost to the sky. Around the fire sat people—some closer to the flames, some farther away. They sat and talked quietly. The girl looked at them and wondered: who could they be? They did not look like hunters, and even less like woodcutters: just look how finely dressed they were—some in silver, some in gold, some in green velvet. She began to count and counted twelve: three old men, three elderly men, three young men, and the last three were still only boys.
The fairy tale “The Twelve Months” by Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak.
Verse 12:
Knowledge is better than practice;
Meditation is better than knowledge.
Better than meditation is renunciation
Of the fruits of karmic activity;
One who has renounced them
Attains peace of mind.
“There is such a firm rule,” the Little Prince told me afterward. “When you get up in the morning, wash, put yourself in order—and immediately put your planet in order. You must pull up the baobabs every day, as soon as they can be distinguished from rosebushes: their young shoots look almost identical. It is very boring work, but not difficult at all.”
“The Little Prince.” Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
There are still people on Earth who have preserved the original purity of creators and have not succumbed to the temptation of consumerism. They wake up with beautiful thoughts and fall asleep with the blissful feeling that they have done everything they could to manifest beauty in this world. Their paradise is right where they walk.
Parable “What If We Did Nothing Today?” Sergey Veretennikov
