Sitting here this morning, my mind is racing, first to the supermarket, then creating images of a painting I’d like to do.  My feelings, my horse, are slightly restless, feeling a little confined, a little cabin fever.  The only part of me that’s quiet is my body sitting here with only a few sensations created by the activity of my head and my emotions.  My body is the only thing that’s quiet.  Or, is it?  Who is it that’s quietly, patiently watching?

This morning, my effort is to see the truth about myself; to see that most of what I am is acquired automatic, mechanical thoughts and reactions to whatever appears in front of me; the truth that for most of my day, most of my life, I disappear into whatever thoughts and activities present themselves and cease to exist because I don’t sense myself.  

I have to see and accept that I don’t wish to see this truth; I prefer to disappear into that sleep.  It’s comfortable, familiar.  

But, this morning, for a few minutes, I wish to see this truth; I wish to remember that I exist; I wish to see how I am, in my life, in my deepest internal world.  When I’m able to accept this truth, to be present to it, then, sometimes, something opens, something else appears, something else is possible, but only if I’m willing to see the truth about myself.