The early evening sun, sinking slowly in a cloudless sky, made the brown fields of wildgrass stretching to the hills shimmer, and illuminated the trees along the now-dry creek as if from within, and cast the hills themselves in a brilliant golden-orange. One sat transfixed, as butterflies and dragonflies danced about, undisturbed by a girls basketball team as they dribbled and shouted on the playground nearby.
The light deepened, and with it, awareness. One was no longer an 'I', no longer an observer. Time and becoming dissolved in the subtly changing hues, dying with the day's last rays before the majesty of the ineffable Earth.
Reaction is self; without the ceaseless reactions of evaluation, judgement, imagination, remembrance, and association, there is no self. Passively watching these reactions, attending to every one as they arise, ends them immediately--and with them, the self--opening the door to seeing, and being.
A falcon flew over the tree as I left, toward the new moon.