What if we think of sitting, what is known as « meditation, » as a kind of travel, a trip to an endlessly wondrous here and now?
The French poet Yves Bonnefoy writes that because what the traveler sees is new to him, his « usual ways of perceiving, of understanding » are upset, allowing for a free-flow in his mind, « an intellectual disorder, » in which « logical principles no longer take prevalence, » if only for a moment. There is thus experienced a « fullness of the immediate, » and life is seen for what it is: « flush with unity. »
This would be a fine description of waking up to the true nature of all things, nothing other than seeing things as they are, always and ever new: Every moment is unknown territory.