Thoughts Arise

I am in the warmth of the kettle. In the sound of water pouring into the cup. Yet also in the rhythm of water sloshing in the dishwasher. Now in the feeling of the cold floor under my bare feet. I am the thought of my future self writing this down. I am the actor forgetting the script, hesitating in the action started a moment ago. I am in a memory brought forth by an image; standing under gum trees embracing my daughter. I am back in the present, and yet earlier in the day. In the remembered sound of her tiny voice forming an unlikely word. I am in the laugh as it forms in my chest and escapes my lips.   Photo from www.freepik.com  

Imagine empty space. This emptiness is not static; there is an energy intrinsic to space itself. An energy that is causing our universe to expand over time. So imagine space expanding over eons. It doubles in size and then doubles again and again. Exponential growth driven by a constant energy density; new space emerging and expanding at the same rate. Time passes. All stars have died, their dust dissipated, black holes have evaporated. All that remains is an ever growing emptiness filled with a dark energy. Imagine a fluctuation in this field of energy. An infinitesimal part of space begins to expand faster. But this higher energy is unstable and the field decays. A tremendous pressure is released. Energy, matter, the start of a new universe. Or the birth of ours. Fundamental particles form, then atoms and the first elements. The expansion of space is now tamed by the matter that curves its shape. Clusters of matter emerge, and from them galaxies, stars and planets. Space continues to...

I see my reflection in the mirror. The koan from last night’s meditation comes to mind. “Who am I?” “That’s me in the mirror,” comes the immediate response. But this answer seems hilariously insufficient. Does this face that I identify with so deeply, capture an iota of who I am? I have an internal world that is irreducible from me. The koan isn’t expected to invoke a rational response. But for an instant it shifts my perception. The sense of having a face and a body implies an external world. Yet this external world too must be experienced within consciousness. So where does the inner world end and the outer one begin? For a brief moment, the boundary between the two becomes permeable. It seems to be composed entirely of ephemeral sensations.   Photo from www.freepik.com

I am among the 35% of people in this world who live on more than 10 dollars a day. Among the lucky 6% who fit this criteria from my country of origin. I am one individual among the 7.5 billion who are alive today; 7% of the humans to have ever been born, living in an age of unprecedented peace and prosperity. But gratitude is an emotion that is seldom invoked by rational thought. When I believed in God, my thankfulness was directed at an entity. In awe of that towering ego, every moment of life could be felt as a blessing. And there was an intuitive grasp of the infinite that cannot be found in very large numbers. Does gratitude require a subject and an object? Or does it emerge from a momentary grasp of that concept we call infinity? When something vast eclipses our suffering. When we find release from the struggle of thought and taste the exuberant freedom of mind. Look up at the night sky. Let go of the limits you impose on your sense of self; let go of the idea that you have a head...

 Last night, while walking to another room, I felt a sense of peace descend on me. It was a relief after a day tinged by troubling news from around the world. I paused in the corridor to let my mind rest in the present. I looked for my head, and finding nothing, my view became expansive. My two year old daughter was finishing a shower with her mum. Soon, she would dash out of the door looking for me. I felt a smile emerge out of the expectation. The warm sensation of it spread to my face; a pleasant tug around the cheeks, a fuzziness at the bottom of my eyes. I heard her squeals and the patter of feet. And then she appeared running at full speed, forming an arc that just about avoided a collision with the wall, and ran straight into my embrace. Her arms around my neck, the velvet of her cheek against mine, her giggles vocalizing our glee. A moment lived.   Photo from www.freepik.com  

This morning as I gazed out the window, I imagined seeing the sky with new eyes. Consider being prevented from seeing the sky, until its memory begins to fade. If you then saw the vibrant hues of a sunrise what would you feel? Perhaps, seeing such splendor, you would be struck with awe. Not just by the beauty, but because of the magnitude. I felt as if I could sense the virtually infinite volume between me and the visual ceiling of the sky. It seemed to press down on me. It was not an oppressive force, but it was an irresistible one. It pushed me down, shrinking the ego to a speck, yet filling my heart to the brim. Oh, such joy to see majesty in its undiminished form!   Photo from www.freepik.com  

All experience occurs in the present. We add a sense of continuity with our imperfect memories and the concept of time. Sometimes a new object or experience captivates us and immerses us fully in the now . But in a meditative state it can seem that this novel quality exists in every moment; a newness in everything that is noticed. Every moment of experience has the potential for new sensations, thoughts, and shifts in perception. All of these arise on their own, without any effort on our part. With an appreciation of the passing of time, and of experience arising within each moment, comes a sense of flow . The contents of our mind are noticed, transfix us for a while, and are pushed aside by the next thing to arise. This arising of experience, the flow of perception and thoughts, this space in which the world appears is the feeling of being. What I am trying to describe is a felt state, not just a conceptual one. When one can shift perspective to notice the world this way, e...