Considering the struggle to be, to find out who I am. This is brought about just by being quiet, just by being in one place, perhaps with some impatience added..... spiraling away from the center quickly I am lost in worry about who I have been and who I will be. But being with that now is not so bad... even the worry I recognize as part of who I am, I accept it.
It occurs to me that I lay some concept of stopping, of stillness against the whirlwind of time; the past and future. I misrepresent the present moment as something different, something solid.
I am growing here, but I am not mature. I am being happy here, but I am not happy. Somehow, I am made of all the world's troubles since beginingless time. How else can I be here? Metta does not bring a picture of dinner to the hungry, it brings dinner.
As someone else said, love picks me up and spins me 'round; and sets me right back down where I belong.
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