Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Day Three Hundred and forty seven

I hold the stone and consider the qualities of the entire stone. It is of the size to be available as a single object of meditation by touch. I feel it pressing against my thumb, around the inside of my index and middle finger, cupped by weight in my palm. Does the stone feel me? Surely, I do not feel the stone but for its pressing upon my hand, and it makes the space to be felt, as much as me; and in this case, is the much more hard and present object against a receptive hand.

Such is the case with the world that meets my senses; were I but to consider it, it would take on the life that it has, which is greater, sweeter, and deeper than anything I could write about. After all, a door is meant to be opened, not to be the world itself.

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