One day I think of the hara, and direct my meditation to that centre. Another day I think of my breathing, its smoothness, depth. On another day I might focus on my hands, the bowl they make, with a handle formed of my touching thumbs. I imagine my exhalations as water flowing into that bowl, and my inhalations as water drawn up again into my spirit. But on the happiest days of meditation I think of none of these things, because they are all in concert with one another, and my mind is clear.

5 April, 2024.