Pandemic Mind

The Inner Body

In Progress

The cushion I used this morning was hard. Why make a hard sitting cushion. It makes my butt hurt. It also provokes the thought machine to turn. It took a while to become quiet. Maybe I am fooling myself at what inner quiet is today.

Life in the pandemic. What is real? So much noise. Inside. Outside. Where is the knowledge? In sitting, it is understood that the knowledge is buried deep in me. But the noise. I hear only the noise.

So much information or should I say disinformation. It is hard to grasp onto anything. If only to give up the idea of grasping. Let go of the grasp. The tide will take you. Is there a tide? A current? Where will it take me? Will it take me deeper into the unknown?

The writer who is writing this, who is he? Why does he need to write now. Is he bored? Compelled by a wish to find a quality of thought that is not thought. That touches the gems hidden in the mind. They are there. But the noise. It drowns out the quiet. The noise is desperate to know something.

The coffee kettle calls me.

Where is the bodhisattva? Is he me? Or am I still too consumed with identity and earthly desires. This pandemic time. There is a stillness in it despite all the noise. There is a presence that sits behind all of this. It is waiting.

Waiting for us.

There is a cry inside me. No tears. Just a feeling. Sadness and hope all mixed together. This is another day to ask questions of this world. What are you world? Why this? Why now? And then the tide takes me. I know not where.