As the screen
Take a moment to consider the source of the sound of my voice in this moment.
However you’re listening, the experience originates from a device.
Something with a display. A screen.
That small piece of glass through which an entire world of possibilities plays out.
If someone asked, what is an iPhone? We’d often pick it up, point to that illuminated display, and say:
“This. This thing here. Look at everything it does.”
But the screen is not its contents.
It is not the next swipe, or the next video.
It is not the email carrying bad news, or the message filled with love.
It does not choose its colors, or control the fluctuations in brightness.
It simply gets to be.
It doesn’t need to judge itself for any of these temporary appearances.
What happens when we begin to look at our own experience in this same way?
What would it feel like to allow things to come and go?
Without needing to hold onto them.
Without needing to call them ours?
Without wanting more of this, or less of that?
What would it look like to sit with both the good and the difficult, and simply be this remarkable space. This quiet canvas, where it all unfolds?
Could we breathe a little deeper?
Relax a little more?
Fear a little less?
And move through life a little more effortlessly?
Curious to hear more?
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