/lit/ - Literature

>>22131357
>open Echopraxia
>the whole book is indeed an act of thoughtless repetition

THE SALINAS VALLEY is in Northern California. It is a long narrow swale between two ranges of mountains, and the Salinas River winds and twists up the center until it falls at last into Monterey Bay.

I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer—and what trees and seasons smelled like—how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich.

I remember that the Gabilan Mountains to the east of the valley were light gay mountains full of sun and loveliness and a kind of invitation, so that you wanted to climb into their warm foothills almost as you want to climb into the lap of a beloved mother. They were beckoning mountains with a brown grass love. The Santa Lucias stood up against the sky to the west and kept the valley from the open sea, and they were dark and brooding—unfriendly and dangerous. I always found in myself a dread of west and a love of east. Where I ever got such an idea I cannot say, unless it could be that the morning came over the peaks of the Gabilans and the night drifted back from the ridges of the Santa Lucias. It may be that the birth and death of the day had some part in my feeling about the two ranges of mountains.

From both sides of the valley little streams slipped out of the hill canyons and fell into the bed of the Salinas River. In the winter of wet years the streams ran full-freshet, and they swelled the river until sometimes it raged and boiled, bank full, and then it was a destroyer. The river tore the edges of the farm lands and washed whole acres down; it toppled barns and houses into itself, to go floating and bobbing away. It trapped cows and pigs and sheep and drowned them in its muddy brown water and carried them to the sea. Then when the late spring came, the river drew in from its edges and the sand banks appeared. And in the summer the river didn’t run at all above ground. Some pools would be left in the deep swirl places under a high bank. The tules and grasses grew back, and willows straightened up with the flood debris in their upper branches. The Salinas was only a part-time river. The summer sun drove it underground. It was not a fine river at all, but it was the only one we had and so we boasted about it—how dangerous it was in a wet winter and how dry it was in a dry summer. You can boast about anything if it’s all you have. Maybe the less you have, the more you are required to boast.

>>18095589
>The last sunlight slowly fading into the dark and cold. Beautiful, yet sad in some way.

I would've been a lot less learned if not for /lit/
I love you all, even you, butters.

Nothing. I've been playing Cyberpunk 2077 for 5 days straight now.
I play vidya once or twice a year, seeing how rare good games are, but jesus is this a good one

I love you, /lit/. Yes, even butterfly and Bukowskifag. There's no better place online to discuss books and there's few better feelings than finishing book and discussing it with /lit/izens. I love you all

>>16690985

>>16679532
w-we're all gonna make it anon

>>14118379
>You find what you look for.
We find the true meaning.

Find a really really really good book to get you into reading

>>13935372
Within our lifetimes. Before I’m too old hopefully. If you only knew how different things could be.

>"Why, yes, Guenon *is* my favorite author! I am a radical traditionalist... How could you tell?"

>>13915849
>And know that I am with you always; yes, to the end of time
that hit, really hard.

>>13835579
Thanks anon

I was Atheist and all it took was a single beautiful Bible verse to convert me. It defies all rationality.

I've started reading and I actually like it. For the first time in year I feel like I'm NOT wasting my life.

The self-existent Lord destroyed the out-going senses. Therefore one sees the outer things and not the inner Self. A rare discriminating man, desiring immortality, turns his eyes away and then sees the indwelling Self.

The unintelligent people follow the external desires. They get entangled in the snares of the wide-spread death. Therefore the discriminating people, having known what true immortality is in the midst of impermanent things, do not pray for anything here.

What remains here (unknowable to this Self) through which very Self people perceive colour, taste, smell, sound, touch and sexual pleasures? This is that (Self asked for by Naciketa)

Having realised that great and all-pervading Self, through which a man perceives the objects in both the sleep and the waking states, a wise man does not grieve.

Anyone who knows proximately this Self-the enjoyer of the fruits of works, the supporter of life etc.-as the lord of the past and the future, does not want to save (the Self) just because of that (knowledge). This is that.

He sees this very aforesaid Brahman who sees the First Born (Hiranyagarbha)-born before the five elements from Consciousness (Brahman)-as existing in the cavity of the heart in the midst of body and senses, after having entered there.

He (sees) that very Brahman (who sees) that Aditi, comprising all the deities, who takes birth as Hiranyagarbha, who is manifested in association with the elements, and who is seated in the cavity of the heart, after entering there.

The sacrificial Fire lodged in two fire producing pieces of wood, (as also the Fire lodgedin the hearts of Yogis) that is well protected, just as much as the foetus is by pregnant women, and the Fire that is adorable every by vigilant men with oblation (and contemplation)-that Fire is too is but this Brahman,

On that, from which the sun rises and in which it sets, are fixed all deities. None ever transcends that. This is that.

What, indeed, is here is there; what is there is here likewise. He who sees as through there is difference here, goes from death to death.

This is to be attained through the mind. There is no diversity whatsoever. He who sees as though there is difference here, goes from death to death.

The Being (Purusa), of the size of a thumb, resides in the body, Knowing Him as the ruler of the past and the future, one does not want, by virtue of that knowledge, to save the Self. This is that.

The Pususa, who is of the size of the thumb, is like a light without smoke. He is the ruler of the past and future. He exists today, and He will exist tomorrow. This is That.

As water rained on an inaccessible height gets dispersed on (lower) hilly regions, similarly, one who perceives the selves differently, runs after them only.

O Gautama, as pure poured on pure water becomes verily the same, so also does becomes the Self of the man of knowledge who is given to deliberation (on the Self).

>>13199183 (OP)
Lost my virginity to my gf a couple weeks ago and now porn doesn't do it for me. Feels really good.
Deleted all of it from my computer, still need to delete from my backups. I want my mind to be pure for her. I love her so much.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Sea_Scrolls

How do I learn to be alone?

>Finally embraced the illusion of the self

>>12676679
>>12676729
>>12676810
There is still hope for this board.

>>12549605
>Twice two makes five