Some days are just easy. It can sort of feel like I am not here, but actually I, the watcher, the breather, am so fully here, from one moment to the next. I take it all in. I see everything in its entirety, as a whole, and I don’t seem to hold onto any fixed notion. I don’t need to. Each moment everything awakens itself anew.
I sometimes get the sense that I am just looking out of a window of a moving vessel. Hours can roll by – perhaps gliding through village after village on quiet country roads. Manifold colours and shapes arrange themselves before me in patterns and sequences that I’ve never quite seen before. Some arrangements might stir something deep down in this moving vessel.
I might see another smaller vessel waving at me. I feel joy. I smile and I wave back. They see me, inside the vessel, and I see them too. A small connection is made. And I roll onward.
Perhaps in the next village it is a snarling creature that captures my attention. I feel afraid, and so maybe I might shout. Sometimes what I see and the accompanying reaction I notice within might not be too pleasant, yet still I notice, I witness. That might be all I am able to do. It is enough. Surely. Eventually whatever is before and within me always passes as I roll on to the next. . .
Still the struggle
Other days are much more difficult. There is a mind that is heavy in thought and a body that would perhaps prefer not to move, but I just can’t seem to watch the process dispassionately. I am not there. I am buried; lost in the chatter of the mind that seems to be going round and round in circles, maybe into the future or back in the past, seeking answers, some sense of certainty, all be it false, and perhaps descending into deep worry, or sometimes even despair. Will it ever end? I feel lost to the pain of the body because there is this strong mind that is telling me I really have to do certain things. There seems no other way. Whose voice is it, is it really mine? Whatever the sure it doesn’t seem to be serving me.
I don’t know what differentiates the lightness and heaviness of days, and actually most of the time the attempt to know so seems to perpetuate the mind’s chatter. Yet if I can catch my busy anxious mind, then there appears a choice to stop. I notice a big shady tree appear, I take off my shoes, and plant my feet firmly in the earth. Then I might just breath myself back into the body.
Easy to be Buddha-like on a bike
Though perhaps I won’t stop. Often I can’t find the strength, yet I am more aware of the process, and awareness seems to be an important step towards seeing there is a choice, all be it a difficult one.
It has become easy to just watch and observe after all this time on a bicycle. My daily practice at being present with what is. I wonder what will become of me once I return? Will I still notice and catch myself? Will I find the strength to stop and breath? I look forward to watching. There is a deep self that is always watching and that self ceases to tire of that watching.