My attention is a wagging dog that runs to sniff at every rabbit hole, chasing any flash of color. I have an active, curious mind that is easily distracted, floating to whatever shape the ups and downs of the day provide. And that shape constricts my sense of what is real. I’m fooled into thinking that each flickering thought is important because it has my attention at the moment.
But they are not all important, and some are destructive, like the ruminations and recriminations that are driven by worry. Without some guidance, my sense of what is real is scattered and unprioritized.
By committing to spiritual practice, I can recalibrate my sense of self. My orientation shifts when I lift my head from the daily details and focus, even briefly, on my inner stillness. What am I touching when this shift occurs? It’s hard to describe with words, but it feels genuine. It has a grounded authenticity that is affirming. I tend to think of it as touching in with my true self. Or simply, my Self. Its shape fits me better than the shape of my scattered self, which seems contrived, driven by a need to control the flow of life into something coherent I can manage.
This sense of Self is also a sense of Source, a window that connects me to a setting larger than the small image I identify as “me.” The shape expands what I perceive as real. Instead of feeling scattered, I feel settled, unified, open to life without a need to control.
There is a purpose to practice – it aids the subtle process of transformation. By slow degrees, I am changed. Steady and continual immersion in the contemplative space of my interior moves me forward. Silence is a type of letting go, a slow walk on a gentle incline, where my steps follow the direction of the slope if I let them. Spending time each morning opening to quiet allows my drift toward Self and Source. It doesn’t always happen; some days, nothing will settle. But in those moments when the struggling stops, I find I’m facing in the right direction, and the wind is at my back.
Photo by Ales Krivec on Unsplash