In January, fourteen blog-posts rolled on to the page, inspired, with sparkling newness, a fresh resolve. Then twenty days sneaked past, and nothing appeared. Wonder why? What is it we can trust?

The body?

One of the most fragile things around, it aches and creaks, often deceiving itself with imagined abilities and fantastical visions. It morphs every day in its special small way, without a clue what happens next. Can we depend on its trustworthiness?

The mind?

It doubts to the point of debilitation, endlessly compares un-comparables, guards its ideas like a dog, but softens and changes its opinions when presented another point of view. Every now and then it simply loses itself, out of the blue. What can we do?

The Universe?

Sounds great. But what does that relationship look like? Seems rather theoretical.

So, what is constant? What can we trust?

The thing that is not a thing and yet, can be called everything. The thing that is nowhere but can be thought of as everywhere. The thing that appears as me but is in fact invisible. The thing that is localised in each of us but is colourless, featureless, unbound. The thing that is beyond stillness and movement, beyond light and dark.

Awareness. The one that knows. Not as a person but as an intelligence. A presence. An eternity in this moment. Here. That always was, is, and always will be. That can be trusted, not to get things done, but to know. Know every experience of being in this body, having this mind, perceiving the world through these eyes. This is how it is.  That knowing. Beyond sounds and beyond silence.