I did so for a long time this afternoon. I sit in my cozy turquoise chair in the bedroom and gaze out at the field beyond. Then I close my eyes. On my better days, worlds open.
Today, I started with lots of thoughts coming through – about the British Open golf tournament I’d just watched, about the Mutual Awakening global community I’m a part of, about my swollen left foot. I’ve learned to watch it all without further editorial comment, and usually I’m successful there.
After maybe half an hour, a sweet curtain came over me and all the words receded to the back forty. A type of fullness came over my face, the sense of there being a huge space around me. Somehow I was watching and wondering at the absence of thoughts. It was so quiet.
Today, saliva started dripping from the corner of my mouth and I just sat there with the dribble, having no desire to wipe it away. The liquid was just a natural part of the sitting, easily included in the whole experience.
Later, there was some humming noise nearby. And eventually a thought did come: “That’s my neighbour’s generator.” One thought led to many more and I wondered if I was in the middle of a power failure. There was no sense of being disturbed by the sound. I opened my eyes, tried my lights (they worked), put on my shoes and went next door. Sharon and John’s generator simply does a test for fifteen minutes every week. No sweat. Back home, back in my chair, eyes closing and peace returning within a short time. Goodbye again, dear thoughts.
An hour or so later, my eyes just opened. No planning. I sat there, watching the birds flit to and fro on my young tree. Everything was lovely and I wondered if I could reach this space when talking with someone. I think I can, and in fact I sometimes do when I’m on one of the online Mutual Awakening sessions with folks from here, there and everywhere.
My quiet times are influencing my times with people. The solitary softness melts into the conversations I have. And the connections go deep.
Alone and together … I need them both.