Uradiance

The present moment is not the tick of a clock, a disappearing point of horizontal time. The present moment is an ocean with a deep vertical dimension you can probe in meditation as you descend from the mind into the heart. The image here is Doré's illustration of Danté's Paradiso, as the poet gazes into the empyrean of the present moment, and beholds the lineaments of a human form within the divine Formless.

      The dust mote on your little toe is a portal to the space beyond the stars. A drop contains the whole ocean. There is no photon of light or electron of matter not clustered with distant suns. Those who insist, "I am not this body," have never descended into this body, or discovered the golden infinity it is made of. Matter doesn't delude us into smallness, mind does. Cloud concepts melt in the blue sky of wonder. Become what you behold. Let nothing intrude between body and breath, nothing between breath and Being. This No-thing is a silver thread that shines from the soles of your feet through the hollow in your chest, to the crown of your head to a distant quasar. Worlds form and dissolve like dew pearls on your web of nerves. Don't let technicians make you feel like a marionette dangling from a zodiac. The planets are dangling from you. And those gentle beasts, the constellations, grazing in the circle of eternity, obey the faintest tug of your be...