Plukrijp.be vzw – Zetel: Trommelstraat 24 – B 2223 Schriek
RPR Mechelen – O.N. 0553.553.660 – www.plukrijp.be
Plukrijp.be vzw – Upside-down the good newsletter
2022 – week 22
Upside down = instead of announcing what we plan to do
(& most often find out we do not need to do), we relate what we really did
Building communities of trust is fundamental
to healing our collective wound.
At Plukrijp, we offer spaces of transparency and solidarity.
The community allows people to encounter each other
in truth and so develop trust.
Through deep relating and group work the individual and that a coherent group can provide is empowered.
We do the garden for YOU
Plukrijp functions on your frequent visits & harvests. Take along for friends & neighbours, this way we recreate real networks between us all, breaking down the illusory restrictions that now still separate many of us from our fellow man = UBUNTU.
The updated list of vegetables & fruit that can be harvested this week is available on our website under the heading “Current Harvest” : https://plukrijp.be/en/op-dit-moment-te-oogsten
This week @ Plukrijp
Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet (2015)
The Prophet, by celebrated Lebanese-American author Kahlil Gibran, is among the most popular volumes of poetry ever written, selling over 100 million copies in forty languages since its publication in 1923. Gibran’s timeless verses have been given enchanting new form in this painterly cinematic adventure about freedom and the power of human expression.
In the jungle of Suriname, Maria Sibylla Merian discovered insect metamorphosis
Finding Inner Balance In Times of Change
Discover the Celtic Circle of Belonging John O’Donohue, poet, philosopher, and scholar, guides you through the spiritual landscape of the Irish imagination. In Anam Cara, Gaelic for soul friend, the ancient teachings, stories, and blessings of Celtic wisdom provide such profound insights on the universal themes of friendship, solitude, love, and death as: Light is generous – The human heart is never completely born – Love as ancient recognition – The body is the angel of the soul – Solitude is luminous – Beauty likes neglected places – The passionate heart never ages – To benatural is to be holy – Silence is the sister of the divine – Death as an invitation to freedom.
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
It couldn’t be more simple and it’s pointing you towards what’s true in your direct experience every moment and yet unnoticed because you assume that your mental categories are inherent in reality itself instead of realizing that they’re mental categories. You’ve got a mental category called ‘me’ which probably includes: body; thoughts; feelings; memories; emotions; and stuff like that and another mental category of ‘not me’ which includes everything else. If you can drop that for even a few seconds, what you find is a single field of energy or a single field of consciousness, depending on what terminology makes more sense to you, a single field undivided of phenomena arising and subsiding within consciousness. You discover that ‘me’ versus ‘not me’ exists only in the mind. The same goes for every ‘good versus bad’ which is found only in the mind but the mind projects it onto everything. So you see, non-duality is the simplest thing. It just is reality minus all your projected mental concepts.
– Hareesh, Near-Enemy to the Truth #16 – God
Alone by David White
is a word that stands by itself, carrying the austere, solitary beauty of its own meaning even as it is spoken to another. It is a word that can be felt at the same time as an invitation to depth and as an imminent threat, as in ‘all alone’, with its returned echo of abandonment. ‘Alone’ is a word that rings with a strange finality, especially when contained in that haunting aggregate, ‘left all alone’, as if the state once experienced begins to define and engender its own inescapable world. The first step in spending time alone is to admit how afraid of it we are.
Being alone is a difficult discipline: a beautiful and difficult sense of being solitary is always the ground from which we step into a contemplative intimacy with the unknown, but the first portal of aloneness is often experienced as a gateway to alienation, grief and abandonment. To find ourselves alone or to be left alone is an ever-present, fearful and abiding human potentiality of which we are often unconsciously, and deeply, afraid.
To be alone for any length of time is to shed an outer skin. The body is inhabited in a different way when we are alone than when we are with others. Alone, we live in our bodies as a question rather than a statement.
The permeability of being alone asks us to re-imagine ourselves, to become impatient with ourselves, to tire of the same old story and then slowly, hour by hour, to start to tell the story in a different way, as other parallel ears, ones we were previously unaware of, begin to listen to us more carefully in the silence. For a solitary life to flourish, even if it is only for a few precious hours, aloneness asks us to make a friend of silence, and just as importantly to inhabit that silence in our own particular way, to find our very own way into our own particular, and even virtuoso, way of being alone.
To inhabit silence in our aloneness is to stop telling the story altogether. To begin with, aloneness always leads to rawness and vulnerability, to a fearful simplicity, to not recognising and to not knowing, to the wish to find any company other than that not knowing, unknown self, looking back at us in the silent mirror.
One of the elemental dynamics of self-compassion is to understand our deep reluctance to be left to ourselves.
Aloneness begins in puzzlement at our own reflection, transits through awkwardness and even ugliness at what we see, and culminates, one appointed hour or day, in a beautiful unlooked-for surprise, at the new complexion beginning to form, the slow knitting together of an inner life, now exposed to air and light.
To be alone is not necessarily to be absent from the company of others; the radical step is to let ourselves alone, to cease the berating voice that is constantly trying to interpret and force the story from too small and too complicated a perspective.
Even in company, a sense of imminent aloneness is a quality that can be cultivated. Aloneness does not need a desert, or a broad ocean, or a quiet mountain; human beings have the ability to feel the rawest, most intimate forms of aloneness whilst living closely with others or beset by the busyness of the world. They can feel alone around a meeting table, in the happiest, most committed marriage, or aboard a crowded ship with a full complement of crew.
The difficulty of being alone may be felt most keenly in the most intimate circumstances, in the darkness of the marriage bed: one centimetre and a thousand miles apart, or in the silence around a tiny crowded kitchen table. But to feel alone in the presence of others is also to understand the singularity of human existence whilst experiencing the deep physical current that binds us to others whether we want that binding or no: aloneness can measure togetherness even through a sense of distance.
At the beginning of the twenty-first century, to feel alone or want to be alone is deeply unfashionable: to admit to feeling alone is to reject and betray others, as if they are not good company, and do not have entertaining, interesting lives of their own to distract us; and to actually seek to be alone is a radical act. To want to be alone is to refuse a certain kind of conversational hospitality and to turn to another door, and another kind of welcome, not necessarily defined by human vocabulary.
It may be that time away from a work, an idea of ourselves, or a committed partner is the very essence of appreciation for the other, for the work and for the life of another; to be able to let them alone as we let ourselves alone, to live something that feels like a choice again, to find ourselves alone as a looked-for achievement, not a state to which we have been condemned.
Song of the Sea – The Song + translation:
Bob Dylan – Oh, Sister
The strongest shoulders carry the heaviest burdens…
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