Day Three Hundred and fifty eight

Touching the stone I notice the singular nature of mind; perhaps not so much the effort to concentrate, but the removal of distraction and a simple awareness of how things are. The fact that an encounter with anything of any length is made up of discrete contacts gives some clue to the nature of mind, and it's arising with contact, it's impermanence at base.

At peace, I consider the losses of family, friends and myself. The losses, too, are made up of so many objects and events that have changed and gone.

Only their bows to change allow me to acknowledge them now.

Day Three Hundred and fifty seven

A burial today and lots of family history with Jeanne and family. We send Metta to her lost father, that he may find his way.

We run to the lighthouse together, turn on a gentle guiding light, letting go of doubt.

Day Three Hundred and fifty six

The way out of the harbor is narrow. And why would I want to sail, anyway? Toward nothingness, toward an uncertain universe? I cannot stay here, in the gossip-ridden village of my mind.

A brave companion helps, perhaps the memory of a good dog. I learn to apply friendship to very complicated states of mind, which hiss and writhe, whisper false prophecy. I do not believe, for they call upon tender wounds with salt for bandages, because I practice allowing for the presence of kindness, which loves before thinking.

Day Three Hundred and fifty five

The bell of opposites rings so loudly when struck near an unprepared ear.

Peace and unrest, trust and fear, death and life, belief and doubt, all clamor for attention, cry for their place, claw for nourishment.

Without clinging to view, there is no hunger, no nourishment, no sound, and no silence.

Day Three Hundred and fifty four

When I touch the stone, I also think of things. Yet touching feels continuous. This is an illusion because the mind can only recognize one thing at a time. Further still, even if 'only' touching, it is made of many impulses. How fascinating, then, that concentration can be developed at all.

In any case, I consider latent impulses, latent energy. How and why does an object look like a stream of thought when it can be interrupted by meditation? Ah, that's better; interrupt my 'stream' of thoughts with meditation. It appears to me that while the mind has only the capacity for one thing at a time, it activates mind files and body cues continually. Why does it go back to one or another for the creation of a thought process?

I consider some of the games I play; 'smarter than', 'stupider than', 'considerate' (as vs some inconsiderate being), 'safer', 'stronger', 'weaker' (righteously of course). Can I let go of any of them? Perhaps if I observe how they make me.

Day Three Hundred and fifty three

I notice that I am full of expectation, before any events occur. Why do I cling to what is not yet? What is beyond this selfishness?

I prove myself only to me, but that is still an effort, a proof.

Day Three Hundred and fifty two

I touch and notice the feeling. I encounter the stone in time. Touching leads to concentration and then there is nothing else, no other objects, for a brief time. Suddenly, there is all the world without identification, without my marking, free and open.