Meditation As Experience Becoming

Then an image arose: a ball of twine. Not just a solid shape, but something in motion—each strand looping through the center, emerging on the other side, and circling back again. It wasn’t still. It was moving, spiraling, flowing through itself like a pulse of energy weaving in and out of form. As I focused on it, something shifted.

It was as if I had been inside a room, and suddenly, the walls fell away. But strangely, I was still in the room, even though there were no walls anymore. The space had opened infinitely, yet the sense of a place remained. The body was still here. The breath was still here. But what I had thought of as boundaries—between self and space, between knowing and unknowing—had dissolved.

Transcript

This morning,

As I sat down to meditate,

I felt a quiet settling in,

A kind of peaceful connection to the moment.

My breath moved in and out,

And my attention followed,

But my mind was restless.

I had been flipping through a book just before sitting,

Searching for something about natural awareness.

One passage stood out.

It described the aliveness of animals,

A raw and immediate knowing,

Yet one that remains ignorant of what it truly is.

And then it spoke of humans,

Carrying not just that basic ignorance,

But an additional layer,

Thinking we know,

Constructing ideas about what we are,

While still missing something deeper.

As I closed my eyes,

Thoughts continued moving,

Following one into another.

At some point,

I realized I hadn't begun meditating,

I had just been thinking about it.

So I let go of the effort to do it right,

And simply sat,

Watching and feeling.

Then an image arose,

A ball of twine,

Not just a solid shape,

But something in motion,

Each strand looping through the center,

Emerging on the other side,

And circling back again.

It wasn't still,

It was moving,

Spiraling,

Flowing through itself,

Like a pulse of energy weaving in and out of form.

As I focused on it,

Something shifted.

It was as if I had been inside a room,

And suddenly the walls fell away.

But strangely,

I was still in the room,

Even though there were no walls anymore.

The space had opened infinitely,

Yet the space remained.

The body was still here.

The breath was still here.

But what I had thought of as boundaries between self and space,

Between knowing and unknowing,

Had dissolved.

And then my hands began to shake,

A gentle tremor at first,

Then waves of energy moving outward,

Rippling through my fingers.

It wasn't something I did,

It was something that happened,

As if awareness itself was flowing through,

Moving as sensation rather than thought.

The body had its own rhythm,

Its own way of receiving and responding to this unfolding.

Something in that moment became clear,

Not as an idea,

But as a direct experience.

Awareness isn't just an observer passively noticing what arises,

It moves,

It expresses,

It flows through thought,

Through body,

Through space itself.

The trembling in my hands wasn't random,

It was part of the unfolding,

A response to something deeper than my conscious mind could grasp.

And perhaps the most profound part of it all was this,

I didn't need to name it,

I didn't need to capture it fully in words.

The experience itself was the teaching,

The insight.

Awareness wasn't something I was trying to reach,

It had been moving through me all along,

Opening,

Flowing and becoming.