Sit in the rain, sometime, and watch your breath meditatively. Your mind’s eye remains focused on the intake and out-breath, but at the periphery of your vision the cascading drops tap at you. The trees mutter with it, the roof plays a tune. You will know, without analysis or dissection of experience, a space between your awareness and the persistent rain.
Inevitably, a large raindrop will strike your head. It will, at the boundary-lands of mind, echo as the impact bounces around your skull. It is then that the constriction of awareness will be offered you like a forbidden fruit of knowledge. You can sit there and replay the sensation. You can discard it and sit braced, ready for the next raindrop. Will you zoom out into a dreamt map to begin a reasonable, logical assessment of the source or impacts of the rain? Will you look away from the miracle or cage a spark of spirit as dull and tamed thoughts?
The spark of the infinite only passes by your gate if it dies, just as it is with you and the gates of love. Let the raindrop simply cease to be within your mind, just as it did in the outer world. After the last echo fades, let there be nothing left. If a trickle runs down your face, that is a different creature of experience. The large raindrop is unrelated to any memory or expectation you might conjure.
Thoughts, like rain, cascade from a distance. There is a distance between body and Witness, a space between your awareness and the drops distantly felt. Just so, there is a distance between mind and Witness, a space between your awareness and the thoughts glimpsed. Each thought has a train of unfolding, just as each drop does, but the series-context of an object of experience is a lure away from awareness. Each thought simply is, then is no more. Chasing it around or grasping after it is like forsaking the world for a raindrop – only it is you that you are forsaking.