Working with opposites helps me to let go and therefore refocus on concentration with less distraction. I notice that the stone is hard and heavy, but then, not so hard; it's not like steel, and of course 'it' is not particularly hard outside of it's contrast to my soft finger. It is heavy, yes, relative to most things I hold in my hand; commonly a quarter or a pen or papers or a fork. But it is light relative to many other things. And so the only conclusion I can draw is that the stone is part of a great continuum, having a notion of a stone only somewhere along that continuum where my history meets it.
And then there is the opposite of mind concentrating or not. I repeat to myself "the mind has difficulty concentrating on the feeling" and I notice first how I cannot locate the stone as a point or a vague shape pressing against all of my hand, but I let that go and repeat "the mind has difficulty concentrating on the feeling" and I notice the tendency of the mind to create a distinction between specificity and continuums, between anything it can pull up into it's labelling system, before it is willing to let go.
The mind stills with each inbreath and I leave just enough of it to bring my attention back down to bare feeling. The inherent stillness in all things sings to me.
And then there is the opposite of mind concentrating or not. I repeat to myself "the mind has difficulty concentrating on the feeling" and I notice first how I cannot locate the stone as a point or a vague shape pressing against all of my hand, but I let that go and repeat "the mind has difficulty concentrating on the feeling" and I notice the tendency of the mind to create a distinction between specificity and continuums, between anything it can pull up into it's labelling system, before it is willing to let go.
The mind stills with each inbreath and I leave just enough of it to bring my attention back down to bare feeling. The inherent stillness in all things sings to me.
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