morning meditation in Brooklyn with a little movement about the cabin as my partner settled in to organize herself out of the house, steam rushed through the pipes, the folks upstairs reasoned with their little one and the familiar ringing in the ear played its high pitched irksome tune.
in what feels like a gravitational pull my attention is drawn from tending to the plethora of superficial whatnot to a layer beneath, to the iceberg itself where awareness seems to nest. pink folyd’s “set the controls for the heart of the sun” springs to mind almost as if an arrow indicating direction. direction taken. attention settles now awareness of inside beneath grows further and i am anchored. this particular dynamic feels like a direct result of a burgeoning concentration. time in practice, as always, well spent.
in service, with metta,
carla
