I’m driving, and there’s a familiar tension sitting in my chest. I name it: vigilance. It’s the quiet, steady readiness for something unexpected—a car drifting into my lane, a sudden stop, a moment of inattention from me or someone else. It’s not fear exactly, but it carries a weight, a tightness, like a coiled spring just beneath the surface.
I focus on it. Not trying to change it, not pushing it away. Just looking at it, naming it: vigilance. This is what’s here. This is what’s happening right now.
And as I hold my attention on it, something shifts. It doesn’t need to stay; it was only there because I hadn’t fully seen it. The moment I recognize it completely, it begins to dissolve. The tension unravels, the coiled spring loosens. In its place: space. A deep, open stillness. My hands on the wheel, the road stretching ahead, breath moving in and out.
That’s the key. Not trying to make it go away, but seeing it so clearly that it has nowhere else to go. And in the space it leaves behind, there is only now. Just the feeling of being here, without resistance. Light. Free.
Spiritual Gravity 