Where to begin?
The first word written on a black page sets the trajectory of thought.
Where to begin?
I don't know.
I stand captivated by uncertainty and the gross human need to explain the unexplainable,
define the undefineable,
comprehend the incomprehensible.
I listen to the jumble of w o r d s bumping about in mind and wonder at the preoccupation with thoughts and the artificial buffer they create, affording us the illusion of control and certainty.
I wonder what it might be like to b r e a t h e, without judgment or criticism of the breath itself or the quality of the air… just breathe.
I wonder what it might feel like to cease, for a moment, our mental/emotional hustle and let all that is arising BE exactly as it is.
Then we, like flowers swaying in the breeze of our own belonging, simply bloom.
The first word written on a black page sets the trajectory of thought.
Where to begin?
I don't know.
I stand captivated by uncertainty and the gross human need to explain the unexplainable,
define the undefineable,
comprehend the incomprehensible.
I listen to the jumble of w o r d s bumping about in mind and wonder at the preoccupation with thoughts and the artificial buffer they create, affording us the illusion of control and certainty.
I wonder what it might be like to b r e a t h e, without judgment or criticism of the breath itself or the quality of the air… just breathe.
I wonder what it might feel like to cease, for a moment, our mental/emotional hustle and let all that is arising BE exactly as it is.
Then we, like flowers swaying in the breeze of our own belonging, simply bloom.
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