I sit in a clearing in the woods and I hear the birdsong
manifest over here, and then over there.
I see a bird fly in here, and then there.
I move about in the clearing
but I am not a bird, and I am not singing.
I am in the deep capacious cavern of my mind.
I see a thought flare up briefly here, and then there.
I see my anger fire up fiercely, and then burn out.
I move about amongst the flares
but I am not a flame, and I am not burning.
I am in a backwater of the river
and I float amongst my thoughts in wonder.
The torrent of my everyday rushes past nearby
but whenever I try to swim in it
I mostly just get swept away.
I move about in the backwater
but I am not an eddy, and I am not whirling.
I move amongst my thoughts but I am not them.
Whoever I have become now, I am freer.
From the clearing, birdsong
From the cavern, flame
From the flow, swirlings
From now on, the unknown.
If we spend a deal of time looking at our mind, our internal world, it may turn out that we realise we are not quite the person we had assumed. In particular we may come to see that the river of our thoughts are a passing stream of temporary bits and pieces (though some can be very attractive bits and pieces…). In that context we may be fortunate and see more clearly what is, and welcome the unpredictability of what is to come.