Jeff Foster, with humour and compassion, speaks simply and directly about non-duality, emotional healing and awakening… and finding the sacred in the ordinary. 

“Thoughts and feelings are not mistakes, and they are not asking to be HEALED. They are asking to be HELD, here, now, lightly, in the loving arms of present awareness…”


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HOW TO STOP GIVING FUCKS Be happy, be good, be positive, be optimistic, be successful, be woke, be spiritually enlightened. Consume the perfect diet. Attract a million followers on Instagram. Live your best life! Rise up the career ladder. Be fit and healthy. Be your greatest self! Manifest your life’s purpose. Optimise your body's functioning. Release your pain, fear, anger and sadness. Free yourself from doubt. Fall in love with the person of your dreams and live happily ever after and never feel lonely again. This dream is beautiful but it is literally killing us. The eternal Soul has no interest in living up to any second-hand ideal of ‘happiness’, however beautiful, dramatic, sexy, compelling. Its terrible and sacred rage boils underneath the entire self-help project. Its cry for authenticity, for Truth at any cost. Fuck the lie of the ‘perfect life’; it only makes us depressed, anxious, addicted - and actually feeds our shame and self-loathing and sense of cosmic failure. Our constant striving eventually exhausts us, brings us to our knees. It’s too much work for the poor organism, to be ‘positive’ all the time. The Unconscious is enraged by the lie. And it wants to fucking rest. But in our exhausted state, afraid even to touch our exhaustion, we turn to medication, energy drinks, drugs, mantras, the gym, more positivity, even toxic forms of ‘spirituality’. Or we simply lose ourselves in thought. Or we create a new identity as ‘the depressed one’ or ‘the failure’. Or we simply ‘push through’ the exhaustion and just keep busy, and numb. Keep moving at any cost. Never stop.Happiness literally can make us unhappy. Fuck this kind of false happiness. It’s vitally important to make room for the darkness. Your life depends on it.To create space for the grief, the rage, the shame, the fear and the loneliness. To bring these poor, misunderstood creatures out of hiding and into the Light. If you do not, they will drain your lifeblood like vampires. Until you listen…Be willing to expose your unhappiness! Give a voice to the sorrow, the anger, the fear, the deep loneliness at the core. Break some taboos. Say the ‘wrong’ thing. Shatter the false image. You may lose followers. You may lose friends. You may lose your job. You will certainly lose your mask. Change may scare the shit out of you. Good. It’s supposed to. Nobody has ever awakened without dying over and over again.You may lose everything and you may have to begin life again yes but the Soul will rejoice. It has been through myriad deaths and rebirths and it couldn’t give a fuck about protecting itself from change. The Soul finds change thrilling, life-giving, erotic even. There is a bigger Happiness that actually embraces even our deepest unhappiness and does not shame it and this is the true Happiness you have always longed for. The Happiness that strips off the mask, destroys false protections, sees our flaws, our vulnerabilities, our deepest sorrows… and accepts and loves us and embraces us just as we are. Okay. Here is your new spiritual mantra…Fuck - the mind’s concept of - happiness. Fuck ‘Namaste’. Fuck trying to be good. Fuck spirituality. Fuck bliss and love and light and good vibes.Fuck perfection. Fuck fitting in. Fuck all the gods and gurus and self-help guides who fuel the filthy lie of happiness as a destination and a goal.Fuck this narcissistic, self-absorbed, shame-based culture that suppresses the feminine and our gorgeous vulnerability and tries to mould us through fear. Accept it all and fuck it all. Bless it all and fuck it all and love it all. Open your heart to it all! Bless this gorgeously silly human mind with its conditioned ideas and impossible standards and its never-ending attempts to tell us how we ‘should’ be, or what the ‘right’ thoughts and feelings are. Fuck the lie of happiness that sends so many to an early grave.Protect the inner child, the one who feels unhappy, lonely, sad, disconnected, sometimes. Stop telling her to be happy, connected, peaceful, spiritual and blissed-out today. She couldn’t give a fuck. She just wants your love. Drench the sad and lonely inner one with curiosity, understanding. Breathe into her. Let her express herself, each day.Fuck all the forces of the world that would seek to harm her or silence her. She is God in form.And when she asks,“Mommy, Daddy, do I have to be happy and perfect for you to love me?”You can reply, without hesitation:“Of course not my love. I love you exactly as you are. I love your flaws and imperfections and your vulnerable heart. They are all so beautiful to me. It’s okay to not feel peaceful. You don’t have to be happy right now. Let’s be truly Unhappy together…”Now THAT, my friends, is fucking Happiness. - Jeff Foster❤️ ... See MoreSee Less

3 weeks ago  ·  

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THE END OF SPIRITUALITYMy yoga mat has disappeared into the ground under my feet. My ashram has become the coffee counter, a bad joke exchanged with the barista, a friendly smile creeping over a frozen face, and the whole world willing us along.My temple is the shopping mall, the dentist’s waiting room, the empty meadow in the morning with its soft yellow light and virginal air.My guru is the incubating roar in the belly, the melancholy of the evening and the hope and despair of raw existence itself.Nothing needs to be added.My enlightenment is the ordinary moment, this mundane experience drenched in the sweet nectar of my own attention.My origin is the breath and the breath is my destination. My lineage is the hungry cat greeting me on my evening walk, ambling beside me awhile, rubbing her fur against my shin, her fur soft like the cashmere blanket grandma used to wrap around us as the nights came in early, fur becoming skin, and the cat nonchalantly moving on to peruse a discarded sandwich wrapper, and me walking on.My spirituality is deep in the earth; it is in the mud, the heat, the bowels, the awkward and the inconvenient, the cry for mother and the courage to penetrate unexplored regions of the psyche. It is the yearning for home and the happily exhausted return.My bliss is nothing the mind could ever grasp, not in a billion years of searching. My joy is simple, like those who have lived a full life and are ready to die.I lie down in the meadow, my backpack my pillow, my hands entering into the silky, sticky grass, my entire life reduced to a single thought and memory and momentary vision, and then that is gone too, and I am gone with it all, replaced by the meadow itself, its soft yellow light and its clean invigorating air, its hope and its promise, its fullness and its mercy.Do not look for me. You will not find me here, or recognise me if you do. I am invisible because I have become all that is seen and all that is known and unknown still. I do not practise spirituality. I have been destroyed, deconstructed, de-boned and born again, reconstituted as man, formless as form. I have been recreated inseparable from this ordinariness, resurrected with the birds belly laughing on the electric wires at dawn.⁃ Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

3 weeks ago  ·  

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UPDATE OCT 3rd 2021Dear friends,I wanted to send you a quick update on my health. So many of you have been asking how I’m doing. Let me first say that I am BEYOND grateful for all of your support, your help, your donations, your love, your prayers, over this incredibly challenging time, I truly am. ❤️🙏🏻😢 I honestly feel so loved and supported. Well… After intensive treatment in Germany for chronic neurological Lyme disease, I am pleased to say that I seem to be recovering well. Many of my symptoms seem to be improving or dissolving and I feel I have at last turned a corner in my healing process. I don’t want to speak too soon… I want to stay close to this process as it unfolds, and I am also prepared for it to get worse before it gets better. I will continue to take time away from public life for the time being - to take things easy, to honour my body, to rest, to integrate, to nourish and look after myself, and to let myself be looked after, as I recuperate from what has been … let’s say … a true health rollercoaster, on all physical, emotional, mental and spiritual levels. Humbling, intense, terrifying at times… and utterly transformative on every level.My heart is with you all ❤️ and I hope to be back with you soon - renewed, reinvigorated, regenerated, revived, resurrected, and revitalised. That is my wish, anyway. 🥲🙏🏻With SO much love to you all. Jeff xxx ❤️❤️❤️ ... See MoreSee Less

2 months ago  ·  

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I SING OF DEATH TODAY!Death is not what we think, nothing like what we’ve been taught. How do I know? I don’t. I am only singing my song of Not Knowing and you are as free to listen or walk away as I am free to sing it. Death is no image, no state, no place, no person; it is not even in the realm of experience itself. Death! Sweet death! The dogmas and religions have tried to make us fear you, made threats and false promises, cleft a heaven from a hell, separated life and the afterlife, good and evil, God and the devil, forces of light and forces of darkness, fractured an original innocent Oneness. The mind has tried to conceptualize you, sweet Death, for as long as there has been a mind. (Just for fun, let us go beyond all we have received or imagined or believed. Death is coming for all of us, whether we like it or not…)Death is barely different from birth, conception is hardly separate from that glorious and inevitable moment of dissolution beyond limits. We did not fear being conceived or not, why should we fear its lover and friend, death? There was no ‘I’ there either way. Ah, this fleeting experience we call ‘my life’, so precious, so beautiful, so full of adventure and connection, so messy, so fleshy, so earthy, is such a tiny blip in time, so unspeakably miniscule from the perspective of the Ages. Death is sleep beyond sleep and beyond, infinite rest beyond rest, and none of that is true. For there cannot be infinity or any conception of the eternal when time disappears, which is what death must be, for when did time begin? When did the mind begin? Just now, when you thought about it? The disappearance of time, memory, story, fantasy, anticipation, regret, the story of “me and my life”. The end of all suffering. All our concepts of death fall away in death, including any of these concepts, if they ever become concepts, and for now they are just notes being sung. I am a poet today, not here to teach but merely to sing. I am not saying I know what death “is”. Nobody does. I am only questioning all we have been told, made to believe, force-fed, scared into. I am dissolving into death myself. This is a living inquiry. Urgent now. I may not have long left. Death is the absolute Mystery beyond mysteries, the place we emerged from, the place we all return to, the place we never left. It is utterly harmless, soft, intimate, like putting on a warm sweater on an icy winter’s evening, like taking off a face mask that’s felt hot and suffocating all day. It is a wonderful exhale after holding our breath way too long. It is delicious rest, after a long and exhausting fight. It is the darkness we feared, all lit up with love. I am not talking of dying, I am speaking of death itself, the moment of death although it cannot be a ‘moment’ because it is the explosion of time itself. Dying can be uncomfortable, for sure, the death process can be painful, I am not denying suffering, believe me! I have sat with the dying and witnessed their pains. Suffering can be hellish, but there is no hell after death only before. Dying can happen quickly or slowly, but death negates time. Some may argue we are dying all the time. Some may say that we are killing ourselves and the planet through our unconsciousness every single day. Some may say that our addictions are a slow way of committing suicide. But death itself is not an experience. I sing it again, “death cannot be experienced”, and this is what everyone forgets or misunderstands or never bothers to think about because it’s just too… dangerous. Dark. Disturbing. Trippy! And paradoxical. And impossible to comprehend, using the very mechanism that death itself destroys. Death is the falling-away of the experiencer itself, the dissolving of the very mechanism by which we experience the world, experience hot or cold, comfort or discomfort, sleep or waking, red or blue or sunflower yellow, the first light of the morning or the touch of a friend’s hand. Without the experiencer, there is no possibility of experiencing death or any of its friends. And so anything we say about death, anything we know about death, will just be our dream, our projection, our story or someone else’s that we’ve taken as our own. And there is nothing wrong with that. Our stories, myths, legends and holy books are beautiful. Death becomes a great Canvas on which we can paint literally anything. Fiery hell realms if we want to scare ourselves. Wonderful eternal visions of bliss if we want to comfort ourselves. Reincarnations as marvelous beasts, fantastic travel to other dimensions, if we want to delight or entertain ourselves. “Infinite nothingness” if we want to freak ourselves out. We dream whatever we dream, and that is our death to us. Nobody is right, nobody is wrong. We are all just artists. Death takes us beyond right and wrong. It is the great equalizer. It the one place we are all headed, young and old, president and pauper, healthy and sick.If we believe in heaven, we will go to heaven. If we believe in hell, hell exists for us. If we believe in reincarnation, we go to our next incarnation, full of anticipation! But in the absence of the experiencer, what can we know?I cannot say death is “never-ending sleep” or “eternal rest”. I cannot even say, “death is nothing”. For who would know that? Who would experience the nothing? Who would rest, eternally, in an infinite void? Who would know “pure awareness without content”? The idea of infinite nothingness terrifies us, maybe, and if we wish to be terrified, we can dream that dream too. We can dream any dream we wish! Whatever delights or comforts or scares us into behaving a certain way or satisfies our curiosity, we can dream it. What happens when we stop dreaming about what happens, and we are just with ‘what is’? What happens when we lean into death, the great Unknown?Today, I sing of the wonder and mystery and utter simplicity of death and the Unknown. The end of suffering, the tumbling into the arms of our God, our own loving arms perhaps, or the 14 billion year-old arms of the Universe itself, and perhaps GOD is only a sound pointing to the utter Mystery prior to the very first thought, prior to and infusing all worlds and transcending them all. We return to what we are, and yet, even that is not true, for we cannot ‘return’ to a place we never left, just as a wave can never actually ‘return’ to the Ocean. It was always the Ocean, it never abandoned its source for one moment.And so here words truly dissolve. Of course they do. What is left? Who can say?Can the mouth utter that which comes before any mouth?How can we begin to speak of a sleep so deep there is no sleep at all?Before the Big Bang, before any notion of God, before even the notion of ‘before’, what is here?Death is nothing like what we suppose, nothing like the scriptures and dogmas tell us, or the old or new age teachers teach, or the philosophers philosophise, not even anything like the poets and artists so beautifully and courageously try to represent, and some have died trying. Death is closer than your next inhale and exhale. Surely it is. How can it be apart from you?It is nearer to you than the comprehension - or not - of these words, more intimate than the most intimate lover, as mysterious as the morning sun, or the sound of rain falling. How could it be otherwise? The sun has always broken your heart. The rain falls inside of you. When you were young, you always knew, the world sprang out of you.Every night you die, every night in deep dreamless sleep you return - without returning - to the Ocean, where there is no world, no time, no space, no history, no future, yet you wake up, and there seems to be a world again. Miracle upon miracles! Death is not “final”! I sing of death, then, the miracle that makes all things possible, the womb of wombs and the lifeblood of all worlds and that which renders all things in all places at all times precious, holy, worthy of great devotion and veneration. In the days we have left, and who knows how many days we have left, let us befriend death, or rather, loosen the shackles that bind us to outdated notions of death, liberate ourselves from all the shame and fear surrounding death, and rest in its warm embrace.We can hide from death but it will not hide from us. We can face death or not, run from it or not, but either way, it is near, always. It is death that writes these words, and death that reads them, I would suppose.It is death that perhaps sings for itself today! I do not expect anyone to agree with me or sing with me, I do not expect anyone to understand these ramblings, I do not expect that I am right in any way, but this is my song, and I sing it, and I love my song, and I feel death near to me now as I sing…As my beloved Walt Whitman sang, “And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier”, and maybe it is. Maybe it is. - Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

5 months ago  ·  

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A NOTE FOR MY NERVOUS SYSTEM“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” – Julian of NorwichYou have been through hell, little one. Oh, you are still in hell, I will not deny it! You ask for a way out of here? I don’t blame you. I would give you the way if I knew the way. Perhaps we do not need the way right now, my sweet one. I meet you here anyway. I walk with you, feel what you feel, my exhausted feet burning as yours do, my arms aflame, my brain an intolerable inferno too, yet I will not abandon you here, however much it hurts, however powerful the nostalgia for yesterday. Maybe we shall find a way out of hell together? And if not, if not… yes, I will find a way to end this hell for you. I will. I will make a pact with God. I will get you out, even if I have to stay a billion years myself, that may be the price of your freedom, a billion years of my burning. But I will get you out, my love, one way or the other, that is the One truth you can hold to in this pathetic land of lies. Until that time, until the end, until the final day, whatever day it comes, I am here with you. I am your safety. I am your protection. I am your ground and your life. Focus on me, not on the fires. Think of me, not of what is lost. Hold my hand tightly, or loosely. Go your own way, or come back to me. However much it hurts here, the abandonment would hurt more. Yes, you are right, this may kill us both in the end, and maybe sooner rather than later, but then we will die together and we shall not be lonely in death and that will be our victory over evil. Love transcends death and this illusory realm of suffering anyway and renders them obsolete. Our safety is here. Here in the darkness, little one, here in the stench and the flame, you are perfectly safe, I know it’s hard to believe! And if you cannot trust that, do not trust it! Forget trust! I have forgotten trust a billion times myself! But… will you hold my hand, at least? No? Will you at least walk with me a little while? Shall we speak a little as we walk? No? It’s okay. We can walk in silence then. Good. Let us walk in silence, here in the bowels of the vanishing world. I love you, little one. I always have. In the silence and the chaos. In this inferno surrounded by screaming fiends terrified for their own survival and concerned only with themselves. I am you, I think you know it deep down, and I have always been with you, and I have always been you. Of course. In death we transcend death. You will always be protected by me no matter how this ends, in this place beyond time. No matter how this ends, and it may end soon, you are perfectly safe. - Jeff Foster ... See MoreSee Less

5 months ago  ·  

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Today is the first Sunday Sondheim never saw. But he is still here. An ordinary Sunday, yet filled with Light … and dark … and parasols of course. Sleep well, Stephen. You have enriched and saved many lives with your music.❤️❤️❤️😭😭 #RIPStephenSondheim #SondheimForever