I have a terrible problem with my florid writing style. I almost inevitably end up feeling embarrassed by what I've written. I tried to pare down my subject matter to the bare minimum, on the preceding pages, and that kind of worked. I feel a little better about them. Now, when I say style, I don't just mean my word choices and sentence structure, that kind of thing, although that's part of it, but I also mean my subject matter. And usually, when I write about exercises of the sort I've described, which I have a lot of affection for, I devote many words to trying to defend the very idea of performing such exercises, since I feel under attack from, let's say, skeptics. I also enjoy the topic, but still, I end up feeling embarrassed by my assertions.
Still, as I worked through the process of inventing meditations, yesterday, I performed those meditations, and I wondered what kind of result they might produce. Here's what I can report. My day was much like any other day: a bit ineffective, though not quite entirely so, in a muddle, but somewhat resigned to that, and maybe with some perspective on it. And I did this: I visited the indefinite realm, to test my instructions. I didn't pay much attention to the house. I'm a bit uncomfortable with the subject. But I did find, there in the indefinite realm, masses and masses of pink orbs, and somehow I found that comforting. They were just there, seemingly not doing much, but, in some way, their presence was comforting. scroll down for a link
Link: is that all? Is there anything more to say?