sipping spiced milk in an aged adirondack chair. scanning the vista in front of me. a small lake surrounded by lush green of various hues. the morning air is fresh, cool and still. i'm sitting in the shade of an old maple. nonetheless i feel the sweet, gentle warmth of the sun. i let my gaze out into the far side of the lake. instantly i feel a wave of relaxation rippling out from the loosening eye muscles. the subtle motion within echoes the lovely silvery-blue huge rings gliding across the open, quiet lake surface. there is sublime purity within and without.
out of the corner of my eye i see the play of shadows in the meadow between me and the cottage. the inner eye is aware of the sporadic mental activity. i have no desire to find out what they are. i just let them come and go. my awareness rests in the lake of the inner self. it is quiet. it is open. it is pure.
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