Why I Can't Sit Still
I sit in my chair, meditating. I remain still.
At least I believe I am still.
Within my body, all is in motion. My heart is pumping, my blood flowing thorough miles of my arteries and veins, my organs functioning. My bones and muscles work to hold me upright and remain on alert for any motion I might need. The trillions of cells of which I am made are all working continuously, finding their share of the oxygen in my blood and performing their jobs without pause.
Outside my body, there is no stillness.
If I stand still at the seashore during those last few minutes before sunset, it seems obvious the sun is sinking into the ocean. But actually, it is the earth on which I stand that is spinning me away from the sun.
As the spring unfolds before me, I enjoy the changing of the seasons, often without remembering that my planet’s constant motion carries me around the sun, creating right these seasonal effects every moment.
I hitch a ride on earth as it joins the other planets spinning around the sun, as our entire solar system travels it’s path around the galaxy, as the galaxy drifts through the universe, and as the universe itself expands far beyond what we can imagine.
All this motion is happening simultaneously, and all happening right this very moment.
And so, during the few minutes of my motionless meditation, I have actually travelled many thousands of miles. I have never been and can never be truly still.
And the path I have travelled in these short moments, I will never travel again.