OK, so I'm back. No mean nasties camped in my digestive tract. No limbs severed on kamikaze bus rides. No fangs, teeth, or claws tattooed in my flesh. (I was almost decapitated by a falling palm frond, but that story can wait.)
Despite my head still being firmly affixed to my sunburned neck, I don't have much to say yet. I've written here (or in my journal[or in my head]) that it is impossible to write about something if you are immersed in it completely. During intense spiritual training, there is no distance from which to watch the action. After all, the goal of any spiritual practice is to get to the point where the watcher watches itself. And this quiet continues, like those proverbial ripples on that proverbial pond. Only this time the pond is frozen.
Will be back after the thaw. This being the material world of samsara, it'll be soon, I reckon...
On the turntable: "Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."
On the nighttable: Rudyard Kipling, "Plain Tales from the Hills"
Sarah MacDonald, "Holy Cow!"
(and way too much philosophy)
Despite my head still being firmly affixed to my sunburned neck, I don't have much to say yet. I've written here (or in my journal[or in my head]) that it is impossible to write about something if you are immersed in it completely. During intense spiritual training, there is no distance from which to watch the action. After all, the goal of any spiritual practice is to get to the point where the watcher watches itself. And this quiet continues, like those proverbial ripples on that proverbial pond. Only this time the pond is frozen.
Will be back after the thaw. This being the material world of samsara, it'll be soon, I reckon...
On the turntable: "Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."
On the nighttable: Rudyard Kipling, "Plain Tales from the Hills"
Sarah MacDonald, "Holy Cow!"
(and way too much philosophy)
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