Saturday, February 29, 2020

No inner stillness

It occurs to me that inner stillness is not.

The water in my jar splashes about with its own turbulence and turbidity.

My molecules of thought rise up out of nothing, pause – long enough to be noticed if I’m paying attention, and fade back into the nothingness.

But if I set my jar down, the H2O settles and becomes mostly still. Yet, the molecules continue to move unseen. Vibrations of the passing truck or distant airplane are reflected in them. Heat from the sun moves them. Even the normally unnoticed shifts in gravity give them a stir.

The universal field flows around and through my molecules, undetectable as long as my water is splashing. But if I set myself down, momentarily, my awareness will settle down through the coarse waves of the crowd, the buzz of mills; down through the whisper of winds and the rush rush of my blood; down to the electromagnetic fields of the sun and of the earth’s resonant field; and I become one with the universe.

And I realize that my inner movement never ceases, but only splashes about to a different influence, that finer ebb and flow of the universal field. And there, at the least point, is the present moment where I finally sense the substantial light of the expanse shifting to and fro, the flow stretching thin to virtual nothingness and the vortices attracting and concentrating matter into being.

Into this ocean I set my calm jar and release my molecules – the form of my single-minded thought – into nothingness which is everything everywhere. A little while, and my molecules begin to swirl, to attract others, to concentrate force and substance, until I am surprised by my jar leaping back out of the ocean and – along with it comes my thought form in full physical manifestation to dance with me.

So, it seems that there is no inner stillness. There is only a matching of the wave’s droplet back into the ocean; and the ocean spits it back upon the shore – with its driftwood – for a while, to be taken anew another day.