Meditation is really very simple. We complicate it. We weave a web of ideas
round it what it is and what it is not. But it is none of these things. Because
it is so very simple it escapes us, because our minds are so complicated, so
time-worn and time-based. And this mind dictates the activity of the heart, and
then the trouble begins. But meditation comes naturally, with extraordinary
ease, when you walk on the sand or look out of your window or see those
marvellous hills burnt by last summer's sun. Why are we such tortured human
beings, with tears in our eyes and false laughter on our lips? If you could walk
alone among those hills or in the woods or along the long, white, bleached
sands, in that solitude you would know what meditation is. The ecstasy of
solitude comes when you are not frightened to be alone no longer belonging to
the world or attached to anything. Then, like that dawn that came up this
morning, it comes silently, and makes a golden path in the very stillness, which
was at the beginning, which is now, and which will be always there.
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