Meditation, as I see it, is not something you do. It is not a practice, not repetition of words, not following a system. When the mind practices, it becomes mechanical, and a mechanical mind can never be free.
Meditation is the flowering of attention. It begins when you observe without choice—your thoughts, your feelings, the sound of a bird, the movement of the wind, the ache in your heart. To see without condemning, without comparing, without trying to become something else—that is the beginning.
As the mind watches in this way, it becomes very still—not because it has forced silence, but because it has seen the futility of its own noise. Out of that stillness there is a sense of vast space, immeasurable. That silence is not manufactured; it comes naturally when the struggle ends. In that silence, love may be.
So meditation is not apart from life—it is the seeing of life as it is, with clarity and compassion, moment to moment.
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