Following on yesterday’s blog, I know that after thirty-five years and counting, mindful reflection has made quite a difference. I don’t give in to automaticity as I once did. I don’t invest myself quite as unquestioningly in comfort and security. That weak little insight about samsara really can fight back against the unstoppable force of habit, like David against Goliath.
Trouble is, a single slingshot pebble won’t do it. Each moment arrives with a new giant to conquer, and staying cool and aiming straight depends on taking one moment at a time. When I remember to do that, I’m saner. When it slips out of mind, I find myself acting like an idiot. Well actually, I don’t find myself at all, that’s the problem. I dig myself into a bit of a hole before I realise I’m up to my neck. Then I wake up; and of course I stop—for a while.
Ideas are so great, aren’t they—like the idea of mindfulness? So linear and tidy and elegant. Nothing like reality.
