Silence, a stilling of not only the voices outside but the inner voices, the roof brain chatter. Now, without the babble or words – inner and outer – I watch my mind, notice when a thought arises. I turn my attention inward, asking, "Who is thinking this thought?" As the mind turns to look, the thinker seems to disappear. But a focus comes from asking, a clearing a deepening. No "me," but a presence. Awareness.
The seed of prayer is sown in heaven. It pushes its stem toward the earth and comes to grow there. It produces an abundance of fruit. Then, as it becomes seed once more, it thrusts its way back to heaven.
