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Towards morning, the clouds become fluid. Flow, flow through the night sky. And the Moon, the full Moon is moving faster and faster behind these cloud streams. At least that's how it seems when you look at it from the top of the hill. The owl is still circling. Flies silently like a ghost. There are still a couple of hours before sunrise. It's still her time. But the ducks are still too early. Something scared them off the lake. With a whistle and quack, they sweep past. To an inexperienced contemplator, it may seem that the nightingale is singing about the Motherland. But once you reach the second dhyana, you realize that this is not so. At the level of the first dhyana, consciousness is still dominated by stereotypes. It also seems that everything that happens around, although fabulous, is still so familiar - native, and colored with something ethnic. I would even note that in comparison with everyday life in this state, all national stereotypes become more prominent. As if the consciousness examines them i
