Meditation, I feel, is not a solemn or grim affair. It is not to be approached with tremendous effort and a clenched soul.

Rather, built into meditation is a sense of deep appreciation of the world and of the impermanent self that meshes with the impermanent world.

This sense of enjoyment is not selective. It is not the enjoyment that prefers chocolate to vanilla, or romantic movies to tragedies, or the city to the countryside. It seems to be a more basic recognition of the vastness of creation and of existence, and of the miracle of things coming to be within the field of consciousness.

Even private sorrow carries this tinge of wonder with it, which is the flavour of meditation.




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