A Metaphor for MIND...

Recently, I was watching the buzz of activity in my mind. Thoughts racing around, chasing each other. Crashing. Oooofff. Slam.

Yeah. They're crashing around like a bunch of hockey players. Then, one of the players goes out of the rink. Into the penalty box? (or the hospital?) Vanished. Just like the thoughts in my mind... vanished... what was I thinking about?

So my mind is like a bunch of hockey players crashing around.

No. Wait a minute. My mind isn't the hockey players... My mind is the rink. Yeah. Sure. It's the rink. It contains the wild, crashing hockey players, but it is NOT them.

The rink. But the rink is in the building. My mind must be the building. It's bigger than the rink. It contains the rink, and the crashing hockey player thoughts, but it's much bigger! Yeah. It's the building.

Hold it. Hold it just one minute! The building is in the town... (my mind is the town) on the planet... in the solar system... in the universe... Yes. My mind is the town... the planet... the universe... And just like the universe, which is incomprehensibly large (with or without boundaries), the mind (consciousness) is incomprehensibly large (with or without boundaries?). And now, those crashing thoughts seem like tiny hockey players in a small rink in a huge universe of consciousness.

Like any good hockey mom, the mind watches the action, moderately pleased, sometimes a bit ruffled, knowing that, in good time, the Zamboni machine will slide through and smooth everything over.

Glurg Does Nothing

Glurg continued walking through the forest. He had no idea where he was going, and had no plans, no agenda, no action items, and no Blackberry beeping at him. He just wandered. When hungry, he ate some mangoes. Occasionally, a coconut fell out of the sky and clonked him on the head. He didn't obsess about the coconuts. He barely gave them any thought. Once he even caught the coconut, cracked it open, and enjoyed a refreshing drink.

Without a Strategic Plan, Glurg was reduced to simply making the best of every moment. He observed the little forest creatures. He studied the rocks at the base of the tree. He noticed some tiny flowers growing in the shade of the mango trees. Yes, he sat on a large stone, and he waited. Like his literary friend, Siddhartha, Glurg had learned to wait. He had few other skills, so waiting, walking, and eating occupied most of his day. And observing.

He sat long, and waited patiently, observing. And nothing more happened. He did nothing. No elaborate plot developments. He just waited in the midst of the universe, and let it wash over him. He began to hear the sound of OM coming from the stones.