I close my eyes and press my hands against my heart. Having woken up with the clearest intentions, I ask only for intelligence and ease and discernment. The mind is already too active, small embers still glowing. the flow is blocked and the residue of last nights run tingles in my legs and arms. The distractions rise like a thorny enclosure, catching me at every turn and nod. But that is OK. I don’t really need to know the why of my distress.
The overactive mind cannot be contained in this place. It reaches out to attaches itself to random thoughts, emotions and places It lives like a parasite on the fringes of the present. Evading now. Careening without care, butting itself up against the past, the future, and now this day. So that is why I have learned to sit quietly, without armaments only with the teaching of self-compassion.
Reciting the words, repeating the mantras, through the words, the recitation, the breathing, the steamy forested raging river subsides. it flows, the waters clear.
We don’t need to identify with every experience we participate in.
it is not