The twentyfifth morning.
The sky was so clear it felt as if one could see through every layer of cloud.
The young man sat on a stone slab in front of the hermitage, hands resting lightly on his knees, eyes lifted toward the vast sky.
But this morning, he was not merely “looking at the sky.”
He felt as if another sky were opening… inside him.
The teacher approached, stood behind him for a long moment, then asked:
“What are you seeing this morning?”
The young man answered slowly, as if choosing each word with care:
“I… look at the sky, but I feel that space is not outside me.
And time is not flowing outside me.
It feels as if everything is happening… within this consciousness.”
The teacher sat beside him, eyes gentle yet deep like an ancient well.
“Good.
Today you’ve touched a profound doorway of the Avatamsakateaching:
space – time – consciousness are not separate.”
He pointed toward the sky:
“You see the sky as vast because your mind is vast.
You see the sky as bright because your mind is bright.
You see the sky as still because your mind is still.
When your mind is narrow, the sky feels narrow.
When your mind is restless, the sky feels restless.
When your mind opens, the sky opens.”
He placed a hand on the young man’s chest.
“Space is not ‘outside.’
Space is a reflection of the mind.”
The young man fell silent.
He looked at the sky, then into himself.
And he saw clearly: the sky this morning was exactly the sky of his mind.
The teacher picked up a fallen leaf and turned it gently between his fingers.
“And time… you think it flows from past → present → future.
But in truth, time exists only when the mind records it.”
He asked:
“When you’re sad, doesn’t one minute feel like an hour?”
“Yes…”
“And when you’re happy, doesn’t an hour feel like a minute?”
“Yes…”
“And when you are deep in meditation, time disappears.”
The young man nodded.
The teacher smiled.
“So time is not ‘outside.’
Time is the movement of the mind.”
The young man exhaled—
light, as if he had just put down an invisible burden.
“So… time never becomes my enemy…”
The teacher nodded.
“Only when the mind clings to time does conflict arise,
and suffering appears.
When the mind does not cling, time is simply a flow—
just another condition.”
The young man looked back at the sky.
Space was no longer “above his head.”
Time was no longer “out there.”
Everything felt as if it were unfolding within a vast field of awareness inside him.
Inside him, a sentence from Jiddu Krishnamurti lit up like an echo:
“The observer is the observed.”
Space – time – consciousness
may appear as three separate ideas,
but they were no longer three.
They were three faces of the same mirror.
The teacher stood up.
“Come.
Today, as you walk, try to feel this:
space – time – consciousness flowing as one in each step.”
The young man rose and followed him.
His first step touched the earth—
and he felt as if the entire sky were stepping with him.
This morning, the world was no longer “out there.”
It had become a transparent stream—
vast, deep, and silent.
Một dòng thở nhẹ - Nhật ký Thiền 