Whenever I wake up and my mind starts to go crazy, I remember — this morning is peaceful, I am not.
There’s always a stillness that lies just beneath what is happening in the chaos of my mind.
This stillness always sits in the background of whatever’s going on and usually, I forget about it. I don’t pay much attention to it because I don’t think it deserves that much attention — nothing’s happening there, I think.
But there are times when I do. There are times when I prioritize this stillness. And whenever I do, I remember. I remember that there is something so completely perfect and beautiful and blissful and beyond words that just exists right next to me at all times. It just sits there; presently, patiently, quietly. It sits there without limits, or expectations. Without form.
It’s just — there.
When I make the choice to give this stillness the light of day, I quickly realize that there’s a relationship there. That it’s not just me recognizing it, but that it’s there, recognizing me.
This stillness connects with me — almost immediately. It connects with a part of me that already knows. The part of me that already is stillness.
So, me and this stillness, we have a relationship now and when we’re in sync, we end up being the only two things in the world that matters.
And so, when I wake up in the morning and my mind is hectic and crazy and unsettled and anxious, I remember. First, that this moment actually is peaceful, and it is only my mind that is not.
And second, that this moment is peaceful, and that peace sees in me, the same thing I see in it.
That peace is me.