I bring myself back and back again with some determination to concentrate. I say "this is touching" and "this is touching" with light and hard touches. I see that noticing and looking for hindrances are two different things.
There is a continuum that goes from an attachment to hindrance, like a kind of fear or fascination, you know, being wrapped up at one end, to noticing, which seems necessary if they are strong, to moving right through them. Sometimes, concentration is sudden and precipitous, like falling over a waterfall.
The danger there is the stark contrast to the world of solid illusion. All of my history becomes elastic, fingers of three poisons reach, feel stuck to their dimension. How can I resist? I am not given my breath by anyone, not by myself, not by anything but grace.
I am still after nature's swift foreclosure of my clinging.
No comments:
Post a Comment