Once again, I am surprised how something so great and wonderful can lie hidden right in front of me. I think it is such a cliche to speak of living in the “present moment”. It has become so common place, and it holds such a deep reality. Deep and often hidden.
Only now, I am becoming aware how the present, the here and now, is such a deep and available refuge from the haunts of the past and the terrors of the future.
It has been no small task to learn even a small portion of what it truly means to enter into the present moment. The present, so apparent, is also so elusive. Such a simple concept and simple reality is so difficult to embrace. The baggage of the past and the allure of the future have become such a constant companion for me that I have a difficult time entering into what is present, what is here and now.
It is no small achievement to find the refuge of the present moment. For me, it has meant to learn what it means for me to truly let go. It has meant that I rid my mind of the chatter that distracts me from what is present. I am finding that I can clear my mind by a simple act. The sensory experience of the moment has become my key to the present.
The sensory experience is for me the easiest connection with what is truly real, what is present in the most easily perceptible manner. Throughout the day, I am reminded to touch the table, the cup, the keyboard. I am reminded to touch the present world in a totally undistracted way.
Touch has become for me the easiest way to connect to the present. It is a simple yet effective way for me to enter into the present, for me to become present. For a brief moment, I am no longer riding a turbulent wave of the past or being drawn into an unfathomable, uncertain future. I am for the briefest time, part of the present.
Sometimes, I enter into the skin of my whole body. I might feel with my head, my hands and my feet all at once. My whole skin feels what the present is like. For a moment, I am present, I am everywhere, I am nowhere.
Senses other than touch can have the same effect, but not as easily. I can look at the moving tree branches, listen to the sound of traffic, taste the savory fresh bread. All can bring me into a close alignment with the present. But none are as effective or engaging as touch. The chill of the granite vanity, the warmth of skin, the hard surface of my desk. All are becoming effective ways to be present.
For an instant, all sense of passing time vanishes. I lose awareness of what I was about to do, about to experience. The echoes of the past, especially my distant past, lose their power to overwhelm me. The only thing that envelops me is the present.