Notice how everything keeps slipping through your fingers.
Every experience vanishes just like that.
What's here right now?
Gone.
Poof.
Vanished into thin air,
Each sensation dissolving into the next.
Yesterday you had a thousand different thoughts and feelings.
Where are they all now?
All of them up in smoke.
Isn't it remarkable how each instant is completely fresh,
Completely new,
Even if in its newness it's experienced as being somehow familiar,
A recognizable pattern of perception.
Oh yeah,
I've seen this tree before,
Heard that song before,
Smelled that rose before.
But actually we haven't.
Not completely.
We've never tasted this particular moment before,
And we will never taste it again,
For nothing is truly static,
Everything is on the move,
Forever mutating into the next thing.
And yet there really are no solid things because what we call a thing is really just a ceaseless flow of sensation,
An ever-changing river of experiencing,
Impossible to really pin down and define.
So just let yourself enjoy this impossibility of ever making any experience or insight stay in place.
It simply can't be done.
The river keeps on flowing,
Moving and changing.
It's impossible to stop and not necessary to stop.
Impossible to control and not necessary to control.
You can just let the disappearing happen of its own accord,
Feeling the great release as each experience vanishes naturally and becomes whatever is next.
