Woodland hawks screech from all directions in the parkland, and birds sing raucously. Friendliness and joy are reflected on the faces of the many people using the park for every conceivable activity—walking, running, horseback riding, biking and rollerblading.
The creek is full, but until observation quiets the mind and cleanses the heart, I don’t really see the roiling green water. Then everything is vivid and new—the stream and sky, the animals and people. Then one enters a realm beyond sorrow.
I dislike the term “mystical experience.” What happens in the brain during the meditative state is neither mystical, nor an experience. It’s an event, a phenomenon that is new each time.
The human brain has the capacity, through passive but intense observation, for awareness that is quicker than
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