When I sit to meditate on my stool on the old familiar rug I begin with offering this time to the One drawing all into unity, the still centre. I also offer this time to this collection of bits and pieces that is this illusory and fleeting me but which none the less I have a responsibility to cultivate for myself and those around me.
Sinking through the breath, a body scan and the slowing of the heart and to very shallow breathing I have the sense of floating with a relaxed body chugging like an engine in the background with occasional sensations shooting with a resulting thought or emotion that arises and passes away. Like floating in very clear water with a high degree of alertness I can direct my attention to sounds outside, thoughts within, the ticking of the clock. The observer me, with a sense of clarity can note how irregularly time runs, how arbitrary these words that float around and how random and uncertain or the tendencies to predict, judge and identity as discrete objects are.
Coming back is both refreshing and re framing, offering me the opportunity to be more reserved, even doubtful but on the whole hugely more grateful for this strangeness of living and awareness.
Life is good, very good but the goodness is not to be grasped, merely appreciated with what one hopes is appropriate humility and grace.
All is emptiness and all is one and the Alone draws the Alone with and without the necessity to resolve the paradox.