The world calls to you, barks at you, cries out for your attention, for your effort, for your hand. First left then right, and up there then over there, until your mind spins like a top unmoored, forever trying to catch its balance.
And then you remember your friend, the monk on the mountaintop, forever at ease. You look up and inhale. He sits as steady and as still as the earth. He smiles at you. He whispers that there's another way - less effort and more ease - to move and breathe and serve. Not this, not this.
You nod and exhale. You soften your shoulders. You remember again that you have that peace, that equanimity, within. You close your eyes. Breath by breath, moment by moment, you make your way back to the stillness at the center, to the knowing place within.
You remember what is true, what is real. You remember kindness, tenderness. You stay with the inner silence until your heart once again grows steady. You reclaim that open self, balanced self, wise-enough soul who stays anchored in the ballast of clarity and love.
You look up toward the clouds, and the monk is still there. He smiles approvingly and nods. (Maybe he even winks).
You step out again into your life. The world still spins and tugs, but you remember now to stay anchored within. You root your feet. You soften. You exhale. You whisper, yes, this is it, this is how it goes. You give thanks. You hold out your hand and head home.
