I'm a big fan of the "GPS Theory" when you miss a turn, your GPS doesn't judge you, it recalculates. No matter how many detours you take, it finds another way forward. Life works like that too. You'll make mistakes, but your destination doesn't vanish. The route just changes.
@mcfw There was a similar incident this morning at approx. 8:15am near Stonewood Ave/Stone Rd. Large black male abandoned his vehicle at a stop sign and was wandering around naked.
Thought is energy. Energy is vibration. Vibration becomes matter. Every reality begins in the mind.
Without control of thought, you have no control at all.
They teach you to fear meditation because a free mind bends reality.
Define your thoughts, and you define your world.
Bubble cymatics never fail to mesmerize,shapes bending, light dancing, and distortion frozen in motion. Sound sculpting the surface into pure visual poetry. 299 people appreciated it will you be the next view? Link posted in comments as always
My Guru once told me a story I’ll never forget. It wasn’t long, but it landed so deep in me that I’ve carried it for years. Sometimes, I hear it again in silence...like an echo.
He said…
There once was a man who found a beautiful golden cage in a marketplace. It gleamed in the sunlight, intricate and masterfully crafted. It wasn’t just a container...it was a symbol. A symbol of elegance, wealth, taste. The man brought it home, placed it in his window, and spent hours each day polishing it. Visitors would admire it, and he’d swell with pride. “Look at the craftsmanship,” they’d say. “So refined. So perfect.” And he’d nod, basking in their praise.
Inside that cage was a bird...small, delicate, alive. The man had bought it along with the cage, but he never really paid much attention to it. The cage was the prize. The decoration. So each day he polished, dusted, and adjusted it....until one day, someone noticed a stillness. A quietness that wasn’t peaceful, but hollow. The bird was dead. He had forgotten to feed it.
I remember my Guru looking at me, eyes wide, piercing, and still as a mountain. “That’s you,” he said. “That’s all of us.” We polish our names, our bodies, our reputations, our accounts, our platforms...the cage. We decorate it, compare it, flaunt it, obsess over it. But inside, the soul grows thinner, weaker, neglected ...and eventually, it dies. And when it dies, no one claps. No one admires the shine anymore. Because there’s no song left. Just a hollow, golden shell.
He paused and said, “bhaagti… don’t polish your identity so much that you forget to feed the thing that’s alive inside you.” And I knew he wasn’t just talking about food. He meant love. Stillness. Wonder. Service. Surrender. Practice. Truth.
We spend our lives tending to the cage. But the soul is the one that flies when the door opens. And it’s the only thing that was ever real.
They say that before entering the sea, the river trembles with fear; He looks back at the entire journey, the peaks and mountains, the long and winding road that crossed between jungles and towns, and sees in front of him an ocean so large that entering it can only mean disappearing forever. But there is no other way.
The river cannot return. Nobody can come back. Going back is impossible in existence. There is no other way, the river cannot return. The river needs to accept its nature and enter the ocean. Only by entering the ocean will the fear dissipate. Because only then will the river know that it is not about disappearing into the ocean, but about becoming an ocean.
Khalil Gibran