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Dr. Feelgood by Andre Platteel , May 13th

“No, that’s nothing; no need to worry about that.” Five seconds and a fear that had stayed with me for years, vanishes. Just like that. I am already lifting myself out of the chair when he says: “You are trying to love this, aren’t you.” On ‘this’ he spreads his arms, and I think I see a twinkle in his eyes. Now fear has left me, my system is more open to really looking at this doctor, this doctor with the practice deep in the woods. And he looks funny. Early fifties, grey hair, glasses, white coat, of course, jeans, sneakers – also white, with three white stripes, barely noticeable. Actually, he looks a bit like Dustin Hoffman. “So, what I notice is that there is a certain resistance in your system, making it hard for you to be fully open to this moment. Is that right?” He is leaning backwards. He is enjoying this more than the investigation of some small bumbs on my head, a few seconds ago. “Listen.” Bird sounds. “Feel,” he says, striking his cheek and pointing his head in my direction, encouraging me to do the same. I feel a bit embarrassed. “What is it that prevents you from being fully open to this moment? This is all we have. Now – this moment – isn’t it?” Without waiting for me to answer he grabs a paper and a pen and gives them to me. “I will ask ‘it’, and also for you to come up with something that will support you in becoming fully available.” He puts his hands behind his head, letting it rest in them. “Please write down...” His breathing becomes louder. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth, but nothing comes, not yet. A few seconds later: “Love and happiness are what the world will give to me...” He is breathing loudly through his nose and takes a little pause, “…I am part of all that is happening, every moment. What could please me more than to receive love in the deepest of my being. Everything is so easy, and the reason why is not important.” He stops. Opens his eyes and meets mine. I put down my pen. Unexpectedly, his mouth issues more words. “What a pleasure it will be to allow love to ground me, to form the basis of my being.” He asks me to repeat what he has just said. I do. Quite fast, feeling a bit strange. “Again please.” I do. Then: “Could you do it one more time, but take your time for the words to blossom in you.” In the slowness of repeating I feel the words finding their way into my body. “I know this is quite unusual. You go to a doctor, and well...” He lifts his arms and opens his hands. “For thirty years I have been a doctor: what most doctors do does not help one bit to make you become more fully alive.” He gets out of his chair and walks a bit. His office is quite big. “Are you okay with this?” I am. + more “No, that’s nothing; no need to worry about that.” Five seconds and a fear that had stayed with me for years, vanishes. Just like that. I am already lifting myself out of the chair when he says: “You are trying to love this, aren’t you.” On ‘this’ he spreads his arms, and I think I see a twinkle in his eyes. Now fear has left me, my system is more open to really looking at this doctor, this doctor with the practice deep in the woods. And he looks funny. Early fifties, grey hair, glasses, white coat, of course, jeans, sneakers – also white, with three white stripes, barely noticeable. Actually, he looks a bit like Dustin Hoffman. “So, what I notice is that there is a certain resistance in your system, making it hard for you to be fully open to this moment. Is that right?” He is leaning backwards. He is enjoying this more than the investigation of some small bumbs on my head, a few seconds ago. “Listen.” Bird sounds. “Feel,” he says, striking his cheek and pointing his head in my direction, encouraging me to do the same. I feel a bit embarrassed. “What is it that prevents you from being fully open to this moment? This is all we have. Now – this moment – isn’t it?” Without waiting for me to answer he grabs a paper and a pen and gives them to me. “I will ask ‘it’, and also for you to come up with something that will support you in becoming fully available.” He puts his hands behind his head, letting it rest in them. “Please write down...” His breathing becomes louder. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth, but nothing comes, not yet. A few seconds later: “Love and happiness are what the world will give to me...” He is breathing loudly through his nose and takes a little pause, “…I am part of all that is happening, every moment. What could please me more than to receive love in the deepest of my being. Everything is so easy, and the reason why is not important.” He stops. Opens his eyes and meets mine. I put down my pen. Unexpectedly, his mouth issues more words. “What a pleasure it will be to allow love to ground me, to form the basis of my being.” He asks me to repeat what he has just said. I do. Quite fast, feeling a bit strange. “Again please.” I do. Then: “Could you do it one more time, but take your time for the words to blossom in you.” In the slowness of repeating I feel the words finding their way into my body. “I know this is quite unusual. You go to a doctor, and well...” He lifts his arms and opens his hands. “For thirty years I have been a doctor: what most doctors do does not help one bit to make you become more fully alive.” He gets out of his chair and walks a bit. His office is quite big. “Are you okay with this?” I am. “Look, we can investigate what it is that is bugging you. We can also ask this great intelligence (lifting his arms again, opening them to receive) to show it to us.” He closes the office curtains. Some workers have arrived to fix something and can see in. “I don’t like people watching me when I’m doing this,” he says, moving to the middle of the room. “I will ask this intelligence, or love, or consciousness, or whatever we want to call it, to show, through me, who you think you are at this moment. After that I can ask it to show, through me, who you really are. Let’s see if there is a difference.” He takes off his white coat, revealing a blue polo shirt. A man on a horse. He concentrates. His body begins to change. He starts walking with his chin slightly tilted, chest pushed out. All in slow motion. He raises his arms and puts them in front of his chest, his hands becoming claws. His feet move heavily, stickily. He walks for two, maybe three minutes, doing circles in his office. Changes in his posture, but not significantly different. I am watching myself in a mirror. He breaths out, heavenly, and lets me out of him. “Okay.” One word to close session one. He walks to the centre of his office and closes his eyes. He makes contact again. For a few seconds, nothing. Then, he bursts out in a laugh. “This is funny, this is so funny. Look.” He begins to pace again. He touches his heart with his right hand and then makes a movement with it as if sowing seed. He doesn’t stop giggling. His acting out of ‘me’ goes on for minutes, encompassing different movements and poses. I cannot help but burst into laughter too. It doesn’t disturb him. He keeps on acting me, and my systems recognize what it is that wants to show itself. A few minutes later I am standing at the door. We shake hands. They feel good: his and mine, both hands. - less tagged:   body   spaciousness   consciousness   knowing   spirituality   love    permalink  read: 5756  print  forward  comments: 0  add comment      name:

Photo: André Platteel

In the heart of Otherness by Andre Platteel , January 29th

Although he had stood in front of the mirror probably a million times over the past decades, he had never before seen the little boy inside his heart. It happened by coincidence: he was walking in a shopping street, passed a window and suddenly clearly saw something inside him. At first he thought it was his reflection and that of something else coming together in the window. But the moment he saw the image he also became conscious: he felt the boy inside his heart. Although he felt the little boy, he didn’t feel he was discovering something he had known was there all his life, something that was suddenly and finally revealed to him. He didn’t know the little boy; had never seen him before. He was not shocked to see him inside him; it just felt as if his world had become utterly new, in less time than time can measure. He knew it by his breath. He thought of his breath as a fresh meadow in Spring, blossoming grass telling the animals it’s time to come home again. It was as if his heart had opened and he himself had just walked in. He knew how it felt when his heart opened slowly, like a flower. He had known love. But inside his heart now was not a lover but a little boy. And his heart was opening not because he wanted to give it to a lover: there was someone in his heart already. He moved closer to the window and saw how the little boy had found a small but perfect space inside his heart. The little boy was part of its flesh and blood. It felt so completely strange and so natural. He knew things were about to change for him. Everything always changes, so why not his heart, why not his breath? He had walked away from the window; people had passed him, one of them almost bumping into him, he had closed his jacket; he had crossed his arms high, protecting the area around his heart. He didn’t want anybody else to see the little boy he, himself, had only just discovered. What he had found was too precious to show to anyone else at this stage. When he arrived home he undressed and walked to the mirror. He stared at himself, met his naked reflection and saw two people. He had never before experienced his nakedness from within. + more Although he had stood in front of the mirror probably a million times over the past decades, he had never before seen the little boy inside his heart. It happened by coincidence: he was walking in a shopping street, passed a window and suddenly clearly saw something inside him. At first he thought it was his reflection and that of something else coming together in the window. But the moment he saw the image he also became conscious: he felt the boy inside his heart. Although he felt the little boy, he didn’t feel he was discovering something he had known was there all his life, something that was suddenly and finally revealed to him. He didn’t know the little boy; had never seen him before. He was not shocked to see him inside him; it just felt as if his world had become utterly new, in less time than time can measure. He knew it by his breath. He thought of his breath as a fresh meadow in Spring, blossoming grass telling the animals it’s time to come home again. It was as if his heart had opened and he himself had just walked in. He knew how it felt when his heart opened slowly, like a flower. He had known love. But inside his heart now was not a lover but a little boy. And his heart was opening not because he wanted to give it to a lover: there was someone in his heart already. He moved closer to the window and saw how the little boy had found a small but perfect space inside his heart. The little boy was part of its flesh and blood. It felt so completely strange and so natural. He knew things were about to change for him. Everything always changes, so why not his heart, why not his breath? He had walked away from the window; people had passed him, one of them almost bumping into him, he had closed his jacket; he had crossed his arms high, protecting the area around his heart. He didn’t want anybody else to see the little boy he, himself, had only just discovered. What he had found was too precious to show to anyone else at this stage. When he arrived home he undressed and walked to the mirror. He stared at himself, met his naked reflection and saw two people. He had never before experienced his nakedness from within. He stood in front of the mirror in silence, the minutes passing. The little boy smiled at him. He waved back. And felt ridiculous. Had he gone mad? Still naked, he made some tea. Somehow it didn’t feel appropriate to get dressed while this little boy was still inside him. He was afraid to insult him, as if by getting dressed he would be drawing the curtains; a strange idea actually, because he had originally seen the little boy when he was dressed. When the tea was ready he invited the little boy to join him for a cup. While they were enjoying the fine Darjeeling, he asked the little boy what he was doing in his heart. He had always been there, came the reply. Not as a little boy, but as everything. Did the little boy have a name, he wanted to know. “Now, I am Otherness; I am neither your past nor your future, nor I am you here and now. I am enduring. I am all the ones you have always been and all the ones you will become in the future, all at the same time.” “That’s not Otherness, that’s me in all of my stages,” he said to the little boy. The little boy took a cookie from the box that was always on the kitchen table. “If you believe what you already are, you can never become. In order to become who you really are you have to meet me, Otherness.” Otherness was starting to feel more and more strange to him. “Are there others hiding in my heart,” he asked, fear invading his voice. Yes, in a way, the little boy answered. And no, because all others were he - the little boy continued. “Why have you chosen to be Otherness now,” he then asked the little boy. “Because you have asked for me: you have invited me into you heart.” “How can I have asked for something I am not aware off?” The little boy did not answer. He smiled, not arrogantly or ironically, not even tenderly – just smiled. The room they were in grew darker. He could barely see Otherness now. He felt lost. Indeed, he did lose everything in a moment that cannot be measured by time. His heart screamed, as if the little boy in him was for the first time experiencing a never-ending, hard-core rollercoaster ride. It was as if he had dived to the bottom of the earth and any idea of him, the world or others faded. He thought he would die, and panicked. But the panic also faded. He met nothing. Within seconds – if you want to measure in time – his eyes adjusted to darkness and nothing, and he saw Otherness again, more clearly now, no longer as a little boy but as all that he had never known; all of which he now knew was him too, all of which he had known deep in his heart without being conscious of it. In the darkness he and the now formless Otherness drank more tea, ate more cookies and saw the brightness darkness is made of. Drinking tea, eating cookies and watching brightness in the dark – yes, that’s what they did. - less tagged:   otherness   image   consciousness   fear   Spring   flower   blood   change   gravity   darkness   brightness   heart   knowing   earth   irony   experience    permalink  read: 7543  print  forward  comments: 0  add comment      name:

Photo: Annemarieke van Drimmelen

Hide and Seek by Andre Platteel , October 12th

I’m sitting outside Olive, a great bagel-cum- coffee shop in the heart of SoHo. It’s early and most of the shops are still closed. Some street artists are unpacking paintings and drawings for sale. Trucks are unloading stuff. Morning is awakening, although the sun is still hidden behind typical New York buildings: huge warehouses with beautiful exterior stairway constructions. Dozens of people are passing me by and a child-like surprise hits me at noticing how different all of their faces are and how, at the same time, none of these faces seem to be so unknown that they shock me. It is as if I already know these people I’ve never met. Some of the people pass me in a hurry; some of them give the impression of still being asleep; others are vibrant and have intense discussions through small microphones hanging around their necks. All these people are going somewhere; all of them have their unique destinations; all of them are ‘on the move’. I wonder: What is it that drives us? What do we long for? What is it we search for in a world that seems to be violent, restless and insecure? I long for peace of mind; I would like to be wholehearted with the people I’m with and about the things I do; I would like to enjoy every minute of the life that I live. I haven’t met many people who don’t want to enjoy their lives, so I imagine that what we long for is to live a life of joy. Joy can be found in many things. I have found joy in lovers, books, clothing, eating, holidays, places, friends, and probably many other things that do not come to mind right now. All of those things have, at certain moments, satisfied me. Which is more than the Rolling Stones got. But this kind of satisfaction doesn’t seem to satisfy me to the degree it used to. Satisfaction has a short lifecycle and continually demands something else to be satisfied with, or about. Satisfaction and consumption go hand in hand: we look for joy in something outside of ourselves. But after a while we begin to understand that enduring joy can never be found in something other than in ourselves. This understanding, which more and more of us are feeling these days (and which is in all of us), stimulates an inward journey: self- inquiry kicks in and the question comes up: ‘What truly matters to me.’ + more I’m sitting outside Olive, a great bagel-cum- coffee shop in the heart of SoHo. It’s early and most of the shops are still closed. Some street artists are unpacking paintings and drawings for sale. Trucks are unloading stuff. Morning is awakening, although the sun is still hidden behind typical New York buildings: huge warehouses with beautiful exterior stairway constructions. Dozens of people are passing me by and a child-like surprise hits me at noticing how different all of their faces are and how, at the same time, none of these faces seem to be so unknown that they shock me. It is as if I already know these people I’ve never met. Some of the people pass me in a hurry; some of them give the impression of still being asleep; others are vibrant and have intense discussions through small microphones hanging around their necks. All these people are going somewhere; all of them have their unique destinations; all of them are ‘on the move’. I wonder: What is it that drives us? What do we long for? What is it we search for in a world that seems to be violent, restless and insecure? I long for peace of mind; I would like to be wholehearted with the people I’m with and about the things I do; I would like to enjoy every minute of the life that I live. I haven’t met many people who don’t want to enjoy their lives, so I imagine that what we long for is to live a life of joy. Joy can be found in many things. I have found joy in lovers, books, clothing, eating, holidays, places, friends, and probably many other things that do not come to mind right now. All of those things have, at certain moments, satisfied me. Which is more than the Rolling Stones got. But this kind of satisfaction doesn’t seem to satisfy me to the degree it used to. Satisfaction has a short lifecycle and continually demands something else to be satisfied with, or about. Satisfaction and consumption go hand in hand: we look for joy in something outside of ourselves. But after a while we begin to understand that enduring joy can never be found in something other than in ourselves. This understanding, which more and more of us are feeling these days (and which is in all of us), stimulates an inward journey: self- inquiry kicks in and the question comes up: ‘What truly matters to me.’ This process of discovering what matters to me has confused me more than a few times. In my case, I sometimes found myself confusing the satisfaction that I felt at undertaking the journey for the destination I was seeking. Did I meditate the right way and long enough to create peace of mind? Am I making (spiritual) progress? Do I have the necessary experiences for an inward journey? Or other confusion that I have felt in myself and among friends: Do I have the best spiritual teacher? Am I following the rituals that should guide me in my? Can I place my inward journey in the right spiritual context? Can I (already) ‘enlighten’ other people around me? Suddenly, spirituality is consumed in order to get satisfaction, becoming no more different than the satisfaction you get from buying clothes, having a great dinner or enjoying a wonderful holiday – nothing wrong with any of them, but they’re not the same as enduring joy. Fleeting joy rather than enduring joy. I have come to the understanding that for me it is important to understand why I am seeking enduring joy; I have come to the understanding that for me it is important to understand that something that is enduring cannot be found, but must be always here. I have discovered that it is important to me to enjoy everything that comes my way, including things outside of myself such as having a great dinner or buying nice clothing. And I have come to the understanding that the idea that something in me, in others or in the world has to be solved in order to enjoy enduring joy is actually one of the biggest obstacles to really embracing enduring joy. And I have come to experience that, despite understanding what matters to me, enduring joy still finds a way sometimes to seduce my mind into playing hide and seek with it, within me. Come out and play. - less tagged:   NewYork   SoHo   Olive   matter   consciousness   spirituality   consuming   knowing    permalink  read: 6363  print  forward  comments: 0  add comment      name:

Photo: Annemarieke van Drimmelen

Smell no evil by Andre Platteel , September 6th

I’m drinking a cup of tea in a bar in MacDougal Street in the heart of the Village, New York. I’m sitting at an outside table, it’s late and it’s still warm. The bar doesn’t have opening hours, as it points out at the top of the menu: Always Open. At the table next to me are four men. In an obviously English accent, they order an expensive wine – but want to try it first. The wine isn’t served by the glass, which means opening a bottle. Yes, you guessed it, after trying it they conclude that it isn’t up to the mark, and send it back. I wonder to myself if they really tasted it. The waiters and waitresses have beautifully cut blue overalls. And on the street you see all kinds of people. Like the man in yellow shirt and shorts who stops and asks me if I could ask the waitress for some cream when she reappears, so he can put it in the coffee he just bought a bit further up the street. After adding the cream, he hangs around. A number of passersby greet him – I assume he’s known around here. He asks if can smell the smell. I don’t know what the smell is. He points towards a woman dressed in black. “She has magic powers,” he explains, “and she doesn’t like me. She’s already tried to curse me a couple of times by trying to confuse me by releasing a disgusting smell. But I’ve beaten her,” he says, without any note of triumph in his voice. + more I’m drinking a cup of tea in a bar in MacDougal Street in the heart of the Village, New York. I’m sitting at an outside table, it’s late and it’s still warm. The bar doesn’t have opening hours, as it points out at the top of the menu: Always Open. At the table next to me are four men. In an obviously English accent, they order an expensive wine – but want to try it first. The wine isn’t served by the glass, which means opening a bottle. Yes, you guessed it, after trying it they conclude that it isn’t up to the mark, and send it back. I wonder to myself if they really tasted it. The waiters and waitresses have beautifully cut blue overalls. And on the street you see all kinds of people. Like the man in yellow shirt and shorts who stops and asks me if I could ask the waitress for some cream when she reappears, so he can put it in the coffee he just bought a bit further up the street. After adding the cream, he hangs around. A number of passersby greet him – I assume he’s known around here. He asks if can smell the smell. I don’t know what the smell is. He points towards a woman dressed in black. “She has magic powers,” he explains, “and she doesn’t like me. She’s already tried to curse me a couple of times by trying to confuse me by releasing a disgusting smell. But I’ve beaten her,” he says, without any note of triumph in his voice. How, I want to know. I’m more interested in this than a smell I can’t smell. “You know…,” silence. Because I don’t react, he goes on: “Every time she curses me and I get confused, well just before the madness takes hold, I start to remember sayings and the words of the greatest magician: ‘There is no ground for evil.’ As long as I not only believe but also experience the words, all evil disappears. There cannot be evil, since life is just good. If that’s true, and I know it is, all evil must be the source of error thinking.” He winks at me. Who was the greatest magician, I ask. He takes a last swig of his coffee, sets the empty cup on my table and just before turning and walking off says: “You know you know.” - less tagged:   NewYork   magic   knowing   curse   evil   consciousness    permalink  read: 3562  print  forward  comments: 0  add comment      name:

Photo: Annemarieke van Drimmelen

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June, 2010 Dutch Political Leaders Receive book Our World		May, 2010 Resistance Decadence New Book: Our World		April, 2010 Arrogance Naivety Ignorance		June, 2009 Mother of all memories
May, 2009 Come again, and again, and again		April, 2009 The Wolf		March, 2009 The three voices		January, 2009 Born to adore This Dancing with the Beloved
December, 2008 Listen carefully		October, 2008 A fragment of a circle God’s Gods You, me and everything else		September, 2008 Man with powers		August, 2008 The hidden promise Crazy for love
May, 2008 Dr. Feelgood What’s the limit of love		April, 2008 Spring Snow will fall The Cleaner		March, 2008 Motherless Child What I am made of Falling upwards Northern Lights		February, 2008 Glass-made-mind The outer layer of the mind Growing younger On Holy Ground
January, 2008 Watch for the wind to blow How is Diego Maradona doing? What are we guilty off? Everything is what is besides language The eagle and the condor flying together In the heart of Otherness		December, 2007 The man who loved too much The dark brightness The windmills of our mind To make two mountains one, gone Bigger than the stars		November, 2007 Act of passion Making love Life has no meaning Where the heart is Oneness is never the same		October, 2007 Mind blowing Becoming authentic Coloured Mind Hide and Seek Culture of fear The man on the bench The Swordsman
September, 2007 What is thinking? World happening Unity in diversity Smell no evil Going in all directions without beginning or end Alternative routes Superheroes don’t age No place like Utopia? Fog		August, 2007 The Wholeness of being Spirit through matter Looking in the mirror A new heart Is matter what matters? World of opinions. Spaciousness for a flower to grow