Being a novice meditator,
I choose the difficult path.
Today during my meditation I still felt blocked. Something was getting in the way of my feeling connected to my true spiritual nature. I begin to reflect on what may be blocking me. I start with my thoughts. I decide that my thoughts are probably too negative today and may be stopping me from experiencing my true spiritual nature. I turn next to my words. I decide that some words I spoke sharply to my husband yesterday were unkind and may be stopping me from experiencing my true nature today. I turn next to my emotions. I decide that going to bed angry last night is now blocking me from experiencing my true spiritual nature today. I turn next to my perceptions. I decide that my sensitivity to feeling slighted which leaves me feeling unloved and unlovable is probably blocking me from experiencing my true spiritual nature today. I turn next to my behavior. I decide that not making the effort to reach out to others in distress may be blocking me from experiencing my true spiritual nature today. I turn next to my memories of childhood. I decide that my childhood memories of feeling slighted and hurt are blocking me from experiencing my true spiritual nature today.
An hour has gone by. I end my sitting meditation and go to the kitchen to prepare my breakfast. I'm extremely gratified that I was able to use my meditation time to reflect honestly on defects of my character that may be keeping me from experiencing my true spiritual nature. The fact is, however, that I'm still blocked.
I fill my glass with water as I do every morning. I hold the glass up to the light that is now streaming in through my kitchen window that overlooks the Branford River. I see a smudge on the glass, or is it on the window, but otherwise it, and the water are sparkling clear, and soon I am no longer looking at the glass and what is in it, but instead I am aware of the river that can be seen so clearly through the glass. The glass and water distort it slightly to be sure, but I can still experience the peace and beauty of the river scene outside my window. I pick up my orange and hold it up behind the glass. It blocks my view of the river. I carefully examine how the orange appears through the water glass. The rind's pores are magnified; I see the detail and texture of the orange. I notice too, not just the color of orange, but the lack of uniformity of color, the subtle shading, the varied pigmentation. The battle scars of harvest are evident on the cratered landscape of the orange's thick rind. I turn the orange and keep looking. I consider the view I had moments earlier of the riverscape beyond my window, and how the orange not only blocks my view but has become the object of my attention. I suddenly realize that no matter how exhaustive and penetrative my examination of the orange it will not permit me to see what is beyond. I let go of the orange, look again, and see the river. Can it really be that simple?
Letting go of any attachment I had to yesterday's thoughts, words, feelings, emotions, perceptions, actions, and memories of childhood, I begin the day.