Being caught up in what is thought, heard, seen, or felt has a taste:

being carried away by clinging leaves traces of itself in experience.

Grasping cuts through the mind like a shovel through soft soil;

and, without any release for itself, it seems to cut deeper and deeper…

Traces are signatures; fingerprints.

They betray the secrecy of a subtle panic.

This panic is the terror of surrender,

and yet a thirst for surrender is the cause of that very terror.

Know these traces; track them back to their source.
Follow them to their beginnings.

Love them through to completion and they will nourish.

Grace affords the gifts of pain.

There is a softness; a delicate haziness; the leftover error of buying into a moment of falsehood.

This is the gift, and it hurts.

Begin again; as a student of yourself here and at this time.

The potential of shame wells up with each wave of newness,

but leave no trace and you will be relinquished.

Bury yourself in the gentle release of thought, sound, sight, and feeling.

Resting here is Stillness amidst motion.

Living here is the Silence of being loved into existence.

As actions unfold from this body;

As thoughts are strengthened and pruned

Through the investment of attention;

May I leave no traces.

May I leave only the vast Space

Of what I already fully am.

“My grace is sufficient for thee;

For my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

2 Cor 12:9

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