Most of my practice today I spent trying to quell my obsession with change. I want to change. I am doing this to change, all I can think of is change. I am so focused on change and what I hope from that change that I lose touch with the moment. With the quiet, with the quality of quiet.
So I put down my arms and just tried instead to cultivate the habit of being in this moment. It occured to me near the end of my hour, as the light started to rise, that all the great writers that I know cultivate the habit of finding this hour at the edge of the day. Either morning, or late night. But you need this hour, to write, to contemplate to be. But it is your hour with the universe. It is your hour with timelessness.
I tried today to kill the writer in me, but she keeps coming back wondering how this timelessness can sink into your writing, so that you make some classic and useful for a long time. Something that could be read at any time.
