Fog descends on the ground, the heron drops out of the sky, gliding under the cedar, onto the thin, flowing creek, then out of sight.
I sit each morning repeating the same prayers, resting my mind, contemplating the teachings. For me it is a slow process of discovery; to recognize the nature of my mind.
Beyond, beyond… peeling back my conditioned response. A meditation that drops – to cut through the watcher and the watched.
Simple recognition.