Newspaper work all day. Arriving in early afternoon, a colleague says, I wonder how many people died in Afghanistan today.
Later, at home in my room, I notice that outside the window the sky is a stunning blue.
Then I wonder when was the last time I sat.
It occurs to me that sitting, what is often called meditation, can be simply understood as just opening to this life as it is. It's nothing but coming back to this very moment of my being, giving myself to it. So simple.
It's just the blue sky, the orange curtains, the tired eyes, the water running in the kitchen, a recollection of something said weeks ago, a smile, the tilt of an eyebrow in a photograph I haven't seen for years, a tinge of undefined longing. And then it's not.
I don't know how many people were born or died today in Afghanistan or anywhere else.
I don't know a thing. I don't even know that.
All I do is give myself to that.