Waiting for an idea, I watch the pages of my wall calendar being stirred by the fan. The current date is empty, a blank white square. The future is full of obligations and anticipations—busy little squares. But none of that is now. Now I sit in the open space of the present, aware of the sensation of sitting and breathing, of the sound of the fan, the breath-like movement of the pages, free to fully inhabit the whole of the moment while gazing at the illusion of time.
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You have mastered the gift of being mindful.
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Thank you, but I wouldn’t claim mastery. The practice is always that–a practice.
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Yes, but you achieved an inner sense of balance and strive for equilibrium. I notice you appear to be on a quest.
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