A Taste Of The Self
I am going to attempt the impossible this evening and try to lay words on the taste of the Self.
If there is any shred of doubt as to whether or not there has been the realization of the Self, I can guarantee you it has not happened.
There is this feeling that everyone is very familiar with, the feeling of your own heart, this feeling that cannot be defined. At the same time there is the experience of the phenomenal display, what is defined by mind as thought, perception, sensation, matter, distance and time.
As the falling into what is called heart begins to deepen and the play of phenomenal expression is not fed by attention it begins to slow down. Eventually when the timing is right, the process of perception of thought comes to a standstill.
What often remains is the perception of breath which usually seems to be the final perception. The perception of what mind calls breathing slows down dramatically and its flavor begins to shift. It begins to be tasted by heart as opposed to perception. And the experience of the movement of breath becomes more passionate than anything that has ever been known. It becomes impossible to describe. And it continues to slow until it feels very, very peripheral.
And then all of a sudden there is the revelation that there is only God. It is so undeniable. There is no one observing it. The very breath is experienced as some very distant phenomenal display of perceptive illusion occurring over the myth of time, recognized to not even be occurring at all.
And there is the taste of what is recognized to have never been left, what has never been entered into because it has never been left. And yet it is new. It is not in time; the illusion of time has stopped. It is not perceived because it is only That.
And what comes clear is why the longing for This was always so strong.