A Sunlit Tent

In this morning's meditation, I was suddenly filled with an awareness of love, more accurately, of the immediate presence of love. It was as if I were inside a white, sunlit canvas tent. I had a sense of the thin layer between myself and the outside world of light, and I had the simultaneous realisation that this was love.

The improving sense of self-regard I am gaining from resuming regular meditation can be quite definite and unmistakable. It's all well and good embarking upon the wholesale integration of the self, but this is a path which leads to unexpected results. I have been concerned that the consequences of losing my inner resistance to change will be almost too much for me to cope with in the context of the life I am leading, and I have been wondering how to enact the changes I now know are necessary for me to progress meaningfully.

At the end of the meditation, which I allowed to continue beyond time until it was quite finished, I looked up at the ceiling and saw a small casement moth, one which I had chased last night before going to bed. It had eluded my attempts to kill it, and ended up in the room I am using for meditation. I felt rather wistful at the thought that I would now have to remove it so immediately after my finding peace and a sense of well-being. It is in this state that I am best at employing "live and let live" as an active philosophy. Although I generally chase out spiders, bees and wasps, flies, cloth-destroying moths and mosquitos are insects I normally kill quickly and without compunction, but now I found the thought of killing difficult.

I stood up on the raised platform, disengaging from the cushions and the covering which had kept me physically stable and warm while I meditated. Getting closer to the ceiling, I saw that it was not a moth, but a tiny cobweb. I smiled; this was easily removed, and harming nothing, I gave thanks for being spared the role of executioner.