I sit on the bank of insanity and observe the fluidity of the universe.

Some might call it meditation; yet my eyes are open, breathing is ordinary and my limbs are positioned for comfort. The water talks and sings, the birds and scurrying animal surround me so I cannot call it silence; though there is stillness in the cacophony.

I can sit for extended periods of time on the banks of a river or creek and watch the water flowing by. Understanding comes in brief whiffs like the scent of temple incense. It does not snap my attention in a particular direction but rather becomes part of the atmosphere.

In that setting I do my best to not concentrate or contemplate; it is enough to be only present. I release any need to question and allow my desire for answers to evaporate. Words feel like a rusty plow with no mule to pull it and this garden does not require my furrows.

Later the tuned fork in my heart will resonate with the words of Lao Tzu, “The Tao that can be said is not the true Tao.” and with Rumi as translated by Coleman Barks, “Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there is a field; I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about ideas, language; even the phrase “each other” does not make any sense.”