On the Blackall Range the sun shakes itself off and emerges from the gleaming Pacific earlier than on the coast. We sit sipping our steaming green tea, awareing the birth of the new day.
Gradually the little motel room floods with golden light called up by the bird-lords of the mountain, who take off for breakfast elsewhere once their work is accomplished. Other fellow-travelers stir: a dog barks at a jogger, a gecko jumps at a huntsman spider, a TV begins to quack in the next unit . . .
The apparent shift to another place, another space, is just that – an appearance. Phenomena may change, will change, are ceaselessly changing . . .
But this Light of awareing doesn’t rise or set, and knows no time or space. Wherever we go IT remains unchanged, yet IT births all that appears to change. Wherever we place our cushions for a morning sit, there IT is. And when we get up again? There IT is. Beloved!