It was on the inside
Of the wave he chose
To meditate endlessly
Without words or song,
And so he lay down
To watch it at eye-level,
About to topple,
About to be whole.
--H. Dunmore.
You make a single wave. It moves away from your hands and extended arms, slowly and gently curling away from you, held in your eye's gaze for a few seconds more..and then it becomes indistinct, not even a murmur, rejoins the still water.
What would it be to think only of the moment from the perspective of the moment? To be in it as it unfurls itself.
You see an attractive woman reading a book, lost. On the opposite side of her is a small tree whose every leaf shimmers in resplendent beauty. Not easy to know at what to marvel at.
The morning silence. An espresso. Try to make some notes. Mounier's incredible Personalism up next- not that you know 'what's next'.
Last evening, before your run, you witnessed the last dregs of the day ebbing away, the last few notes of the day finding their equilibrium. The mysterious light just hanging there, on a few trees, the tops of buildings, already darkened, already suggesting infinite distances.
You noticed the ground for some reason. While you run you try not to think of any negative thoughts-and just let them flow away from you. You notice the earth beneath your feet, wrinkled, dusty and soft in places and hard in others.
While you run there's something in the air, or maybe it's the quality of the fading light, that reminds you of some former time. How many thousands of years do we carry with us? What was my face like then? So many of those years washed away, but sometimes a wave returns your way...
Of the wave he chose
To meditate endlessly
Without words or song,
And so he lay down
To watch it at eye-level,
About to topple,
About to be whole.
--H. Dunmore.
You make a single wave. It moves away from your hands and extended arms, slowly and gently curling away from you, held in your eye's gaze for a few seconds more..and then it becomes indistinct, not even a murmur, rejoins the still water.
What would it be to think only of the moment from the perspective of the moment? To be in it as it unfurls itself.
You see an attractive woman reading a book, lost. On the opposite side of her is a small tree whose every leaf shimmers in resplendent beauty. Not easy to know at what to marvel at.
The morning silence. An espresso. Try to make some notes. Mounier's incredible Personalism up next- not that you know 'what's next'.
Last evening, before your run, you witnessed the last dregs of the day ebbing away, the last few notes of the day finding their equilibrium. The mysterious light just hanging there, on a few trees, the tops of buildings, already darkened, already suggesting infinite distances.
You noticed the ground for some reason. While you run you try not to think of any negative thoughts-and just let them flow away from you. You notice the earth beneath your feet, wrinkled, dusty and soft in places and hard in others.
While you run there's something in the air, or maybe it's the quality of the fading light, that reminds you of some former time. How many thousands of years do we carry with us? What was my face like then? So many of those years washed away, but sometimes a wave returns your way...
3 comments:
'What would it be to think only of the moment from the perspective of the moment?' Remember: 'The moment of the rose/and the moment of the rose tree/are of the same duration.'
Definition of 'mindfulness'? - a ghastly trendy appropriation, but maybe harbouring a kernel?
Yes, I think that really is it (though it is a terrible word,a s you rightly say).
Hello, anon.!
No, I don't remember that actually. Could you please elaborate?
Best,
K.
'The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew tree are of the same duration.' T. S.Eliot. Little Gidding.
The symbolism is the point.
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