Tranquility in Movement

What appeared to be an empty landscape a few moments ago reveals itself to be buzzing with activity. The blue tits appear from out the trees and flit across the steps in front of me. A couple of wood pigeons come down onto the steps as if to eye me up and scrutinise this silent and still entity. From out of nowehere, a white cat appears at the foot of the stairs. Our gazes interlock. There is a flash of recognition (as if to say 'we come from the same stock'); she slowly climbs the stairs softly, eventually reaching me, whenupon she brushes against me and then disappears.

These entities seem to gravitate towards the self, but it’s just that the self, in tuning in, in expanding outwards, dissolves into them and comes to them. The I then becomes the bird, becomes the water, becomes the cat. Yet, crucially, the bird is still the bird, the water is still the water, and the cat is still the cat. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. The mystery of the universe reveals itself to those who are still (a 'stillness' that does not preclude movement). There is tranquility in movement and movement in tranquility. This is what the Irish poet-philosopher John O Donohue meant when he wrote in Divine Beauty in a chapter entitled 'Towards a Reverence of Approach':

When we approach with reverence, great things decide to approach us... When we walk on the earth with reverence beauty will decide to trust us... Beauty is mysterious, a slow presence who waits for the ready, expectant heart.

'The Buddha of Immeasurable Light & Life at the bottom of Park Terrace steps'.