It seems unusually quiet tonight after a hard rain; sounds that do come have a different quality, sort of clean and crisp. I follow my breath and experience the qualitative difference between attending to my breath as a rising and falling of my chest and attending to it as it hovers about the tip of my nose. Attending to my breath at the tip of my nose seems more subtle, less a thing of the body, more wispy and random. Hearing heartbeat, ringing in ears, which seems very high-pitched tonight. Hearing trains whistle as they approach the crossings, each one a different pitch. Mind wanders, don't remember the content of wanderings. A sneeze erupts. Cat seems to sense it a second before it happens and startles. Thoughts arise about what I have learned so far by doing meditation practice:
1. There are many options for working with a situation, some more skillful than others. Sometimes the most obvious, or most instinctive option, is not the best.
2. My mind wanders.
3. I'm not getting enough sleep.
4. I can discipline myself to do even those things I don't like to do.
5. I can accomplish much by taking things in small steps.
6. I may take cues from my meditation practice and change the practice in small ways in which the practice seems to be heading.
7. I can choose to shorten the practice when I'm too tired to benefit from it.
8. I am attending more to messages from my body.
9. I am learning when I can push myself and when it is best to give myself a break.
10. Between 3 and 4 trains rumble through the valley in a half-hour period of time each evening.
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