It's quiet here, morning quiet. I could interpret the quietness in such a way that I pull down in response;
instead, I listen and appreciate the silence. Not completely silent, I hear birds and the hum of a machine, and a car going by...
Taking time, I listen and wait. I smile as I notice my breath surfacing spontaneously from the core of my being, and I feel gratitude for the reliable anchor of the life-giving breath. When all else seems to consist of layers of confusion, within silence the breath is always found, waiting for me to enter it.
Through the breath, I am comforted. It is safe and has a "mind" of its own. When I stop interfering, the breath breathes itself; all I need "do" is rest and allow.
Why not give up the striving for elusive things, and simply be grateful for the ever-present breath?
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