The body is slowly recovering from a COVID infection. Strolling with the dog on a nearby hill proves to be just enough exercise for the first time in a couple of weeks. Even though the disease symptoms have already been gone for some time, peculiar fatigue still embraces the body. Every step through the deep snow feels heavy. One must stop many times to soothe the pounding heart and let breathing settle down in its normal peaceful rhythm. Stopping and standing still for a while is not a problem, as there's no hurry anywhere.
Luckily, someone else has come before and made a path in the snow on top of the hill. Sometimes, it's bliss to walk on someone else's trails. The dog seems to share this observation, expressing simple joy by running full speed back and forth on the snowy trail. His whole being whispers wordless wisdom that echoes in the overlooked corners of existence: the simplest experience tends to create the most profound joy. What, then, produces the simplicity of an experience? The absence of compulsive thinking—the end of time.
As a psychological phenomenon, time tends to add redundant complexity to all human experiences. Most minds have formed a habit of wandering aimlessly in time—in the deep forests of thinking. Thoughts lead into imaginary worlds, where tall trees obscure the clarity of the sky, and speciously important paths go around in circles, leading to nowhere. Clarity of the present moment unfolds as all ideas of time withdraw into nothingness. This clarity is nothing new, special, or mystical that one could somehow attain through a proper course of action. Instead, it's the very foundation of all experiences. If one exercises any force to tune into the present moment, the clarity of the moment easily slips away. When all efforts cease, the clarity unfolds by itself.
How is it possible to tune into the present moment, then? Evidently, it's profoundly challenging. Yet, it's very simple. Too simple for the mind to understand. At first, the present moment doesn't seem to contain anything of interest. It is just too empty, and the compulsively thinking mind cannot allow emptiness. It whispers enchanting words about things that seem more important—memories of yesterdays, visions of tomorrows, the anticipation of pleasures and joys, dread of worries and regrets, echoes of peace and harmony, or distressing news of war. There's a place and time for such thoughts also, but the roots of insanity dig deeper when they continuously engulf the present moment.
In its prevailing state, the human mind is blinded by the idea of time. It habitually projects itself into a future that doesn't even exist or dwells in a past that might not have happened at all. In the moments of pain and suffering, the present moment is embraced by a deep desire to get rid of the pain and suffering. In times of pleasure and happiness, the present moment is easier to accept, yet the easiness comes from meeting the requirements one has set for happiness. This kind of acceptance is not clarity but a personal past in disguise.
As one patiently endures the emptiness of the present moment, without insisting on things to be one way or another, something very precious becomes evident: healing from pain and suffering is in the pain and suffering, and healing from pleasures and happiness is in the pleasures and happiness. When facing directly whatever the present moment holds within, time dissolves, and clarity emerges.
A spontaneous return to the present moment unfolds with each weary step while strolling with the dog on the hill. This clarity of one's own experience feels like a homecoming.
