After I’ve been searching all over the house for my keys, after I’ve cursed and muttered and fretted, and then I finally find the keys, I feel a slight, almost imperceptible . . . disappointment. The anxious search, the excited rush, the fascinating problem is over. In this same way, would I also rather search for Reality rather than actually recognizing it? Is the chase more exciting? Do I feel that I do not deserve to recognize it? If I find the keys, I have to question the part of me that believes I am a loser of keys. If I find Reality, I destroy the “important” and habitual part of me that believes I cannot find it. Then where will all the drama go?

Things constantly move and change and change again. Mutability. Poets around the world have different names for the same phenomena of constant change, for moments that are transient, mutable, impermanent, ephemeral, evanescent. Poems about mutability are tinged with sadness, the pang of loss. Something beautiful was here, for a moment, but now it is gone. The constant motion is not only outside but also inside of you. The sparrow overhead may gently startle you, making your heart jump. The clouds passing overhead may introduce feelings of awe. As you open up to receive this, you have created space inside of you, your emotions begin to move more freely, in concert with the actions swarming around you. In fact, what’s inside of you seems as much a part of everything as the things outside of you. Your emotions reflect what’s going on outside.