Stillness in a moving world

I don’t know if, when you read this, the snow will still be falling and piling up as it was last month, in February. I think it might be very possible, even though March is usually dominated by thoughts of daffodils and gamboling newborn lambs. However, I shall first write of high-stepping cats, or, categorically, of my cat, Speck.

Speck is called by that name because when she was born she was tiny, so tiny, like the smallest atom of a cat. Today, she is a handsome black, silky-coated adult cat. She absolutely hated the snow last month, but when forced to go out, she rose and fell into the deep, powder-like snow in a most comical way, with sometimes only the very tip of her tail waving as she descended!

But, if you stop to think about it, is not our human life like Speck in the snow, rising and falling? At times, we experience high points of happiness with our partners, with our children, and with our life in general... Conversely, we may also experience the depths and suffering of a chronic illness we cannot accept, or of unemployment, or situations and people that are an anathema to ourselves. In other words, the constant change and movement of this ephemeral human world.

Is there no other way? Is there no profound knowledge of a still silence, not moving, always the same, such as can be found if we were to dive down from the turbulent surface of the sea to the very depths? Could there even be something waiting for our recognition? Aware of this possibility or not, it may be that this point of dependable silence, of complete equanimity, is as much part of us as is the constantly changing scenes of our everyday human lives. Perhaps we should explore this other world. What do you say, dear reader?