Sunny days and summer are replacing November’s stormy days and rain, the skies now expansive and blue and promising holidays and happiness and rekindling our wish for our Christmas havens, our bachs and cabins by lakes and seasides in far away places. And now these evening sunsets with their wonderful palette of colors, the high up mare’s tails of thin cloud, their wind-brushed skeins of cirrus turning gold and apricot and copper then fading into dark.
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Meditating in the twilight and early dawn is always inspiring – no phones, no noise or distractions, only the lapping of water on the foreshore and the evening and dawn birdsong, not a chorus of songsters but the individual tuis and warblers competing for attention and filling the dark forest with their music. Our canoeists paddled far out before sunrise to sit in their little bubbles of plastic, feeling beneath them the slow and rhythmic undulations of the lake, its waters rising and falling like a breathing; then the incoming light and the ancient silences. Here everything falls away and only consciousness remains, awareness without thought, stillness without mind, only pure being and the elemental Self.
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