Tired this evening. Watching for what is happening with me that is a hindrance to concentration. It is always my relationship to my body, thoughts, and feelings that cause me to get tangled up. I could challenge myself, Zen-style, and ask "Whose relationship?," but I'm not that quick; I need to know what this thing is, this complex presumption upon which all of my history and plannning rests.
But perhaps it is not that complex. Perhaps it is not there. Perhaps my mind insists on making something quite simple complex in one last-ditch effort to prevent it's presumed demotion from creator to participant, from knower to knowing.
There is craving that follows feeling. I know it when I touch the stone and I am carried away. The stone has fewer and fewer places for my mind to go to crave. Therefore, manifold mulitplexes of mental movies have moved in, along with strong cravings for body states to be different than they are.
I dedicate myself to the birds of the air, to the quick heat of participation, to the water that rinses judgement clean, and to stone, that I might be where I am.
I ask that the elements bring me good counsel, and the song of my true place.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment