Reality is an endless process of creation in the present moment, delightful in its simplicity.
The joyful observer that I see as the body goes to the toilet, cleans the teeth, goes down the stairs, makes tea, sits down - everything looks as if it moves a doll not controlled by the puppeteer. How will the body behave in the next instant? It snugly settles on the sofa and becomes a woman drinking tea. And this woman is as still as a wall or ceiling.
The observer notes that the woman's chest rises with the inspiration and descends with an exhalation, that her fingers move slightly. I become a cup, tea, lips of a woman and again tea, flowing through the esophagus into the stomach and falling into various systems of the body - dark and infinite.
Now I am nothing, in the next instant - a pond, then again - nothing, and even a moment later - a cloud or a rain. And now I'm in the garden, I'm getting this tomato, this carrot. I can become this cell of the body, this human body, this non-body, this nothing that is the beginning and the end of oneself, the joy in oneself.