Thoughts Arise

Amidst the calm of meditation, thoughts emerge and subside. What is the origin of these reveries? If I am in control of my thoughts, why can’t I stop thinking? "I am the thinker,” says a voice. But the voice is recognised as just another thought. The "I" is self-referential. “I, the thought, am the thinker,” admits the voice. The thought and thinker cannot be truly separate! They arise entangled, in mutual dependence, neither possible as independent entities. In between thoughts, there is no thinker. And the thinker of one thought can seem quite different from another. “You are neither the thought, nor the thinker,” concludes the final revelation. What is left unsaid appears wordlessly; I am that in which the thought/thinker appears. So vast, such potential! And yet even this space of knowing needs a known. Could it really exist on its own?   Photo created by anake – www.freepik.com  

In the quiet darkness the cavern feels boundless. A low note reverberates through the space giving rise to thousands of mesmerising shapes. Coloured in hues of turquoise and emerald, they are breathtaking as they dance to the symphony. The shapes are music, and I am the cavern. Where does music live? In the instrument that generates it, the sound waves that carry it to my ears, or in the signals being deciphered by the brain? In this moment I know the answer is none of those. The music only exists in the space of consciousness. I am the place where music lives. The next day I feel compelled to run in the rain with this phrase echoing through my mind. The wetness across my face, that pitter patter sound, the smell of rain, the howl of the wind and its force against my chest. I am the place where rain falls. The glistening leaves and grass, waving in the wind. I am the awareness of green and the exuberance of life. My feet against the ground, the sensations of my breath and heart. I am t