The ground I walk upon is lost and found. There is the truth of my feet touching, connection holding me up.There is the truth of my body trusting. This now is now to be explored. Foot down, take a breath, listen. All the senses going in, stretching out, radar receiving. Feel. What is this place? Breath.
The toddler mind runs around picking up rocks from the past, running imagined stone walkways of the future. Silly exploration of what is not yet understood. What is it? The beginner’s mind asks? What is this place of me? Breath.
But now. This now is difficult to find. The doors of Durin are only clear in stillness when the moon shines full upon them. We cannot see when we expect to see. Our eyes only show us the old stories.
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We wear our knowing like armour clutching our never wrong sharpness of sword words. Hard shelling our hearts:Thick layers of fear we wear weighing us down. Others are the enemy. That makes us safe.
The door was always there. Waiting. We trust the ground to find our feet. The safety of senses. Breath. What is this place of me?