Chapter 1: What’s Happening Right Now
You’re reading.
Eyes moving left to right. Black marks becoming words. Words becoming meaning. It all happens so fast, you don’t notice how. Just — reading itself.
What else is happening right now?
Maybe you’re sitting. Or lying down. The weight of your body, felt. Pressure at points of support. Air temperature on skin. All this was here a second ago, but you notice only now, having read these words.
Breathing. It’s been happening all along while you read these lines. But where was your attention? In the words. And breath went on breathing itself.
Now you’ve noticed the breathing. Has it changed? Become slightly tense, controlled? Wait. In a few words you’ll forget again. And it will return to being natural.
Sounds. What sounds are here right now? Don’t turn on attention specifically. Just allow sounds to be noticed. Close ones. Distant ones. Maybe a refrigerator’s hum. Or voices through the wall. Or traffic noise. They were here all along. The world was making its sounds while you read in the silence of words.
Thought: “So what? What’s the point?”
Did you notice? It came by itself. You didn’t decide to think it. Just — arose. From where? Now perhaps another one arose. Or an evaluation. Or a memory. They come and go like clouds.
Expectation. You’re waiting for something important to come next. Some meaning. Some revelation. Where are these simple observations leading?
But while you wait for what’s next, this is happening. Reading. Breathing. Sensations. Thoughts. Expectation. This is all there is right now.
Maybe you’re reading quickly, eyes skimming, looking for the essence. Or slowly, thoughtfully. Or with irritation: “So what?”
Whatever’s happening — that’s what’s happening right now.
This page. These letters. This seeing. This understanding or not understanding. This agreement or argument. All of this — right now.
Not yesterday’s regrets. Not tomorrow’s plans. Not memories of the past. Not dreams of the future. Only this.
But here’s what’s strange. As soon as we say “only this” — attention starts looking for something else. As if “this” is too simple, too ordinary. There must be something more important, deeper, more…
What if there isn’t?
What if all there is — is what’s happening right now? Without hidden meaning. Without secret depth. Without special importance.
Just: words being read. Thoughts arising. Breathing happening. Body being felt. Sounds being heard.
Are you still waiting for something from this chapter? Some conclusion? Direction? Revelation?
What if this very simplicity is the revelation?
Right now the last lines of the first chapter are being read. Perhaps slight disappointment: “That’s it?” Or curiosity: “What’s next?” Or recognition: “Yes, exactly.”
Whatever’s happening — is happening right now.
And nothing else is needed.
