A wet and drizzly day just passed and another on its way. The washed-out colors that form about me make me look inward, look for a place that is warm and colorful inside, look for my own thoughts, look for the thoughts that are always with me, but difficult to see except on such gray, noise-free days.
All I really am is thought. The physical part of me that goes about experiencing the world is in place and functioning for only a whimsical moment, but my thoughts remain, and they collect and expand, and they pass inwardly the sensations my body experiences, so that my body is constantly being re-assimilated in memory and reverie.
The gray, quiet, peaceful days allow me to re-enter the conversation with myself that had broken off somewhere backward in time. I understand better when in silence with myself. I begin to develop some taste for what is me and what is not me.
A rest comes over me that frees me from motion and quells my emotions. Maybe it is a religious state, the one that I looked for in my church-going years, and am now finding that I carried the sanctuary around inside of me all this time, but could not find the front door to enter.
I walk about indoors feeling this flux between what is ephemeral and what is changeless. The harmony between the moment and eternity lives right here with me today. It’s not holiness or insight, not meditation or inspiration, just a day of simple perfect peace.