20 minutes in the evening. I lit a candle next to my Buddha statue. (I read somewhere that fat Buddha statues don’t depict Siddhārtha Gautama / Shakyamuni Buddha rather the incarnation of his successor – Maitreya.) I was tired. Good upright posture, careful dhyana mudra, diligence in body and breath awareness. The sitting turned out well. I was very relaxed. I tried to hold my attention on the body/breath for as long as I could. And then I failed. And then I tried again. At all times, however, remembering that my thoughts are like my breath. Painful thoughts. Long out-breaths. Pleasant thoughts. Itching leg. Shallow breath. A sore throat. Pleasant thoughts. Blood circulation. Muscle contractions. When my heart will stop, my thoughts will stop. It’s just a biology. No point being ashamed, upset or embarrassed by one’s thoughts.
I’m reading “Reality Is Not What It Seems” by Carlo Rovelli. It blows me away that science is only now catching up with the vision of the world Buddhism came up with over two thousand years ago:
Nelson Goodman, a philosopher, wrote in 1950s: “An object is a monotonous process.” A stone is a vibration of quanta that maintains its structure for a while, just as a marine wave maintains its identity for a while before melting again into the sea.
I tried to read about Buddhism today… But I stopped. I’m not interested. Not today. I rather read about quantum physics and Paul Dirac, the strangest man of science. I don’t want to participate in any religion. I don’t want to be this or that. Why would I want to strengthen my ego? But I admire Buddhism so much. I just want to sit on my meditation cushion and observe my thoughts and body. I want to walk the streets observing how everything passes, how everything is in the process of decline revealing nothing.
Bad At Being Still 