This morning it was there. In the early hours at the threshold of the daybreak. Unchosen, not created. It was there. Deep. Intense. The mind overtaking. A fiery flame in the heart blazed up. A magnet of blissfulness which pulled at the consciousness.
It was the time at which the daily IAM meditation was routinary completed. A succession of pre-planned images tried to quench the heart fire. The magnet in the heart pulled, and personal will power was drawn on to let the little set of images and visualizations not get lost in thoughtless blissfulness. The vibration that the IAM meditation most of the time brings along was there, but it was at the most pre-conditioning, and it was not the heart fire itself. This seemed for the moment smothered by the wet rags of methodical visualisations.
Concentration is closedness. It's like a tyrannical movement that in the idealisation of that one idea, that one thought, tries to deny all the other, tries to close out or tries to suppress. Attention is not concentration. Attention is an open receptivity that closes out nothing. Only in open receptivity it is that the awareness of beyond the mind can make its entry. Strong-willed concentration closes it out.
After the meditation were the first colours of the sunrise magnificent. A lightly starred cobalt blue sky drove away the dark of the night, to clarify towards the Eastern horizon to a light blue colour. The horizon itself was burning in flames with deep red colours that blazed up in orange and golden yellow. The woolly though relatively compact tufts of the dark grey cumulus clouds were at the East side lighted up with a splendid crimson red colour.
The fiery colours that made their entry in the serene blue seemed also to set alight again the heart fire. There was a deep blissfulness and almost a melting together with the amazing play of colours.
A thought did not know its place and forced itself into the consciousness. There was an idea to share the magnificence of the sunrise with others by capturing it on photo. Not sufficiently seen through, the idea led to action and three photos were made because of the mind wanting always more and better. Fiery joy however does not let itself be photographed, and the camera shying it disappeared, not to return during this sunrise in that same intensity.
Every moment is joy, beauty, though ever new and never the same. The moment is eternity, because there is nothing than that. By forsaking the actual moment in wanting to perpetuate a passed moment we forsake the beauty and the joy of life. Memory on this level is suffering. Joy is the eternal actuality in existence.