When a mind storm passes, we always look back at it with wonder. What was that? What was that wind that caught me up, lifting me up and then dashing me back to the ground. What was that? The mind is a place where, like on the plains of Oklahoma, great storm brew and suddenly rise out of nowhere to lift me up to some great Oz drams. Then the tornado gently places me back on the ground, all frizzled and frayed: What was that dream, that nightmare? Mind storms are dreams that tempt us with a heaven, then turn into a hell. Then the dream drops us, suddenly, it’s energy exhausted, and we just plop back on the earth. What was that?
Upon what can I stand so that I won’t be scooped up? On what truth can I know that will stop the winds from unseating me? Just This…Just This….Everything is Just This. I have a job. Just This. I do not have a job. Just this. I have money. Just this. I do not have money. Just This…..Just this holds everything with equanimity. There are not a high Just This or a low Just This…. I fly an idea and it fails. Just This. I fly an idea and it flies. Just This. I am sick. Just This. I am well. Just This.
All the pairs of opposites , all contradictions are held in the arms of Just This. Just This is the ground upon which I stand. The wind cannot touch me when I stand on Just This.