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Night sounds of the thrush
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In the still of the night the orange headed ground thrush perched on a tree outside, calls out in earnest beseeching his mate to join him in intimate embrace. A perfect interruption as a wake up call suitably timed for meditation! As though by telepathy, the thrush calms down to only occasionally resume its melody in subdued tones, nudging us deeper inwards. As observer & observed thus invisibly tango, attention distilled with the purity of agendaless resonance with the soundless throb of divine magnetism filtered by the heavenly moonlight, the perfume of divinity osmotically percolates into each pore of form. We vaporise!
Still not the stillness
Let now stillness still our being
As bliss vivifying
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The Self has no attribute
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