This labour day weekend my mother invited Ben and I to Underhill House, a cottage owned by a wealthy friend. So called because it's a house built into a hill. The roof is grass, and light comes in through a series of skylight. Downhill from the house was a lovely man made pond. By far the most tranquil, private spot I've ever meditated in. No witnesses other than the occasional dragonfly.
I had a religious moment, sitting by the glass surface, pines reflecting the emptiness that I aspire to in meditation. I felt the larger witness to it all, that vast presence that is always there no matter how alone we are.
Alongside the feeling of vast presence, was the habit of returning to my petty squabbles with my mother, my anxieties, my feeling of helplessness over the distractions that continue to buzz through my mind.
When will it ever end?
And then in the next moment I recognized this as grasping. It ended there in that moment. Of course I want that "ending" to last. But all that has ended really is my awareness of it. Presence never ends.
Looking for happiness in anything else is like trying to harness a dragonfly for thrills when really the most exciting experience is the pond.
This presence it seems, has followed me home, although the truth is it's always been here in my home, however small and however squalid.
I don't need to harness it's power. I just need to keep remembering that it's here.
I need to let it harness me.
