The body, clogged with clamps and twisted by depression, interferes with development. A body liberated from a neurotic corset, a body with pure energy channels — if the development of the personality is not a help, then it certainly is not a hindrance.
The body is an open launching pad, from where everyone sets off on his free flight. The author of the flight is a person, not a natural predisposition of a person. The body is given, but the soul is its engine and master. The soul is the leader, the body is the leader.
Soul and body — who influences whom? Does the soul determine the body or does the body determine the soul?
“Everyone can become a genius, it’s just that one will need thirty years for this, the other three hundred …” But, of course, everyone is equal
In Sinton, looking at the participants of the trainings, I am almost always convinced that physical data determines little and each of us can become anyone. Or almost anyone — there would be a desire.
I know that this group of newcomers, so gray and nondescript now, will turn into a collection of stars in a couple of months. People will appear in it — regardless of what kind of blank their bodies are.
Looking at the Syntonians, I am always convinced of one thing:
On the other hand, when I look at people on the street, it hurts my eyes how defining the Body is.
I’m going to the subway, a human showcase in front of me. Well, with such a body, or rather, with such a face, he cannot be the boss. It’s a bastard. And next to it sits a thoroughbred specimen of the spiritual type, although somewhat already degenerating. And there, while with her mouth closed, she was a market brawler from birth.
Truly, through her body — you can not trample.
The next specimen worthy of a museum showcase is a victim who strictly and worthily carries his cross. Behind her sits an accountant, smilingly obtuse to everything that does not fit into the framework of debit and credit. But a meat breed fell into the car and fell on the seat, which, apart from developed digestion and basic instinct, has no other details.
For a decade I have been dreaming of being able to capture all these pictures and observations with a hidden camera: it is impossible to imagine a more severe (and convincing) truth of life.
Our body is a book in which our life is recorded: not only the past, but also the future. And those who know how to read this book — they read it. When the Dalai Lama gets old and it becomes clear that he will soon need a replacement, the monks go through the villages and villages, looking for a new Dalai Lama. How do they do it? Just. Passing village after village, they look at the faces of six-seven-year-old boys and, sooner or later, they find a new Dalai Lama.
Note that the problem “But the parents will not give up their son” usually does not arise. Parents themselves see who was born to them.
Yes, the boy will go through some more trials and more studies, but the main thing is done: he was found. In my opinion, such a decision is extremely wise: by the age of five or seven, everything is already written on everyone’s face, their values and their path are already imprinted in their eyes, and you just need eyesight to see it all.
That is: from the muzzle or face, from the carcass or camp, from paws or strong and beautiful brushes. And also from physical energy or pale infirmity.
So where is the truth? Does the body form the soul or does the soul form the body? I think that your own research will be much more interesting than my answers.
… And about Sinton — apparently, it is worth considering that non-random people come to Sinton. At least the possibility of becoming interested in Sinton is written in their family, just as the impossibility of coming to Sinton is imprinted on the corporality of others in the same way.
Everything is written in the body: including, as with some, practically no dependence on the body …