I’ve been musing to myself this week about what happens in my daily sit. Like a collection of pocket lint, these musings have been telling me something about what I carry with me each day. I practice every day not to get good at meditation or wear the costume of a contemplative. I come to practice to practice. To practice showing up vulnerably before the ever abiding God, as I am, even when I can’t imagine the fullness of who that is.  I begin by stapling my attention to an intention to apprentice itself to the eternal silence presencing itself …