Qualities of the Moment:
so everything seems to be a quality of the moment, that to be aware is simply noting the mood of existence and what appears in its unfolding. This isn’t any claim of a cosmic truth of any sort, and I make no promise that this is so for anyone but me. It may later prove to be otherwise to my own perception as well, I wish to hold nothing past its point of my own observation. But right now I watch the easy flow of things, I listen to the morning song of birds and cars commuting in the distance. My immediate experience is the warmth of coffee in first sip, enjoying the bitterness that somehow still surprises me after thirty odd years of knowing its taste. I write, noting thoughts that turn into words and find their way to a complete idea across the screen. This too is always a surprise, finding myself each morning immersed in a creative mode, expressing whatever comes to mind in a unique way that belongs to only me. I am always grateful that words find me and that I have this time to write, observe my thoughts, and for coffee and the morning songs too. It all seems to come together in a perfect sense, that I am aware of each aspect without break from my attention, everything being expressed as a quality of the moment.
again, I have no idea if this is true, and it doesn’t really matter to me — I’m not in pursuit of any ultimate truth, my days of being a seeker have shifted to explorer, noting the present moment in only what it offers me for now. I allow myself the luxury of being, there’s no rush to discover a single thing, relaxed in mystery, my only role is to write what occurs to me. It’s a pretty easy gig.
so here I am, drawing the morning to a close, last sip of coffee taken, and words concluding on their own. It seems this is where mystery has taken me, and I’m content with what’s been told. This moment, as each will, has its own mood, qualities of infinite sources that found their way here, to be expressed, or perhaps just rest in this awareness. It’s all shifting now, as it always is, even as I write of this experience. Yet the qualities of the moment continue, offering a new expression, another aspect of mystery that belongs only to the grace of motion. No words will ever capture any of this. But if I’m lucky, a little bit of grace lingers in these words, a memory of qualities from moments long ago, experienced in some new way with every reading now.
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