The hottest day of the year so far, follows the hottest night. The alarm a welcome distraction. Restless, I peel myself from the sheets and make my way downstairs. Enjoying the motion. I open the back door and feed the cats. They move like feline gratitude into the garden. I drink water, light incense, gather my mat and cushion and follow them.
Our-time-within-the-light – Gavin-Birchall
A tree surgeon who visited us once, told us that our fig tree was ‘the biggest in the North West’ of England. Whether true or not it is a big and vigorous tree on the far side of the lawn. I have recently taken to sitting under it to meditate. The stories of the past inhabiting the present. On this occasion, in the early morning, the cool sun gently lit the lawn close to the house. I sat there instead.
Placing mat down in front of the glowing grass and cushion on top of that. Incense, rising like a mast from a small hole drilled in the bouncy belly of Budai. Legs folded under me and timer set, I sat. I listened. I watched.
The cool morning air was invigorating. An occasional breeze refreshed. The leaves in the trees trembled and the sun flickered softly. Very few were awake in our neighbourhood. The sound of our place was muted and still. Slumbering it was, peaceful, like a sleeping baby. Nothing much happened but it became clear that everything was happening.
The sunlight was moving. Revealing the motion within stillness that is always there. I can be still on a spinning earth and the rays of celestial light cycle through their angles. A house at the end of our garden, that was not between the sun and I, gradually became so. Imperceptible. Silent. Unstoppable.
The almost nothing movement from light to shade continued and my location became more and more shadow, dismantling time. The kind of time we have invented and forget that we have invented. The sort that measures and butchers and fragments our lives into smaller and more fraught pieces. The kind we believe in and live our lives by but does not exist. This, what was in front of me, was closer to what we call time. Sensed and known as change. Without gradation. Without edges and value. As participation and relationship. Within not applied.
The incense rose and wisped with the air. Flags sent messages on the wind. Photons waved their way from distant shores. So fast and so long their journey. Light became shadow and will become light again as the spinning goes on. I am grateful for my time in the light.