As I sat gazing out the window, my attention lingered on a stand of trees, their branches stripped bare. The view framed by the window was like a painting—every inch of space filled with something to see. Houses dotted the hillside beyond the trees, yet my focus was drawn to one central tree. It wasn’t just a tree but a presence, an anchor in the scene. It stood there occupying space where leaves had once been, and I found myself drawn into the question of what it means for something to occupy space—whether it’s the air now filling the branches, or the thoughts inhabiting my mind.
The window’s frame reminded me of the limits of perception. Like the edges of a painting, it contained the scene in front of me, yet I knew intuitively that there was more beyond. The mind, too, works like this—a frame that holds our current thoughts and sensations, while beneath and beyond them, there is an openness, a vastness that isn’t immediately seen.
As I focused on that tree, I realized that space itself remains constant, even as the objects within it change. When the leaves were there, they filled the space, but now the air has taken their place. And so it is with the mind—thoughts, feelings, and sensations arise, occupy its spaciousness for a time, and then fade, leaving room for something else. The space doesn’t disappear; it is always there, patiently waiting, like the air surrounding the tree.
This contemplation deepened as I began to sense how the objects of the mind—my thoughts, memories, and emotions—are rooted in something much like the tree is rooted in the earth. Experiences, sensations, and perceptions weave together to form the objects of my awareness, giving them texture and weight. Yet just as a tree can be uprooted, so too can the objects in the mind. Thoughts can be examined, untangled, and released, revealing the empty spaciousness that is always there.
In this awareness, my sense of self softened. The usual boundaries between “me” and the world outside blurred, and a warmth spread through me—a furry, almost tactile sense of connection. It was as though the open, unoccupied space I sensed in my mind had expanded, merging with the space beyond the window, the air surrounding the tree, and the stillness of the moment. This openness, soothing and alive, invited me to rest in its embrace.
Spiritual Gravity 