With palms together,
Back at my residence, down from the mountains, the air is different. Just a little thicker, although it did rain at the refuge yesterday afternoon. Having a refuge is a great gift. I am periodically able to get away from the desert, enjoy some silence, or at least noise of a different kind. Stellar Jays squawk, hummers blitz by with shrill, high pitched tones of territorial aggression, and the flag of our deck, flips a beat in the breeze.
Son Jacob and I discussed this classic koan while on the deck with the flag. The wind moves, no, the flag moves: no, it is your mind that moves. We trailed off into wonderful tunnels of space-time. Folding space, time itself, and the role of the perceiver. Does anything move? What is movement if not something defined by relative relationships? All very heady. Not very Zen.
Feeding the birds when the feeder was empty; this is it.
Yet, the moment of self reference assumed in that statement, suggests I might as well be a rank amateur. Good. Let's sit down and abide in the universe together.
Be well.
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