Was the feeling that Larry Bartles felt, the "Damn!" expression that you have when you discover that the toast has burned and time is short before having to leave the house and the morning bites you have been counting on ain't gonna happen.
And then on the drive to work some fool in a Jeep decides that you 'pulled out in front of him' on the highway and is gonna school you on it. Even though there was plenty of space, he actually races to close the gap and gets tight on your bumper as if to say that you, who have been driving for forty years, can't judge when to merge properly and don't accelerate fast enough. As if!
When the day unfolds kinda like this.
Elijah O’Donnel- Unsplash.com
And then at work you find out that so-and-so has called in 'sick' for the umpteenth time and you're going to have to work twice as hard because management won't manage to cover the lack of coverage
and it's just a snowball rolling downhill from there and at some point you look up at the sky and ask "Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this?" and the clouds drifting by up there don't answer but the customers you're dealing with do, rather rudely, to your asking them necessary questions that are just part of your job.
So you go within, to the place that can't be touched by any of this and is simply observing without passing judgement of any kind, not taking sides, and you can do that too but your judgement stands in the way. Your emotions stand in the way, turbulent as a storm toss'd sea and added to that there's physical tiredness as well.
But n'er does The Observer of all that you experience vary from neutrality, the calm center, the unattached state.
It's not 'sad' to The Observer, to watch you as you go through a rough day. There are no labels that can be put upon what it sees. What’s occurring is not drama, right, wrong, unjust, or unfair, it just is.
And the same holds true for the good times. There are no such things as rewards, justice, fairness, or payback. To The Observer, it always and only is What Is.
A life is only What Is to The Observer, for it knows not of death, time, or being born. There is only the arising of forms and the falling away of same.
There is intelligence there, supreme intelligence, that takes a different view. We cannot contain hope of understanding that intelligence. It is far too vast.
But when the toast burns, it takes notice even of that.