Inscrutable: Days Twenty-One through Twenty-Five

I meditated for three out of the four days I was out of town.  I'm happy with that.  Lots of family and lots of chatter.  It's all good and useful and necessary and harder than it looks. I find that five minutes before my twenty minutes is up, I open my eyes and check my watch.  Fifteen minutes and I'm cooked, I guess, even though I do go back in for the last five minutes.  This happens every day.  Would it be okay to do this for fifteen minutes every day instead of twenty?  If I go for fifteen, will I open my eyes at ten?  Think I better stick with the proscribed twenty.

Maybe it's because I was up so early yesterday (had an 8AM flight out on the day that Daylight Savings Time kicked in), but in those last few minutes I had what seemed more like a dream and less like the blank time I aim for.  Like so many of my dreams, there was a narrator and an object.  I wouldn't have known what the object was but for the narrator.  It was a "bejeweled compass" and it looked like a sky blue porcelain hand mirror without the looking glass face.  I know.  A compass?  It's a little too heavy on the symbolism for my taste, but I suppose I can't control the quality of my meditative musings.

Today, once again, there was the dreamlike state and again, something popped into my head.  Two phrases, actually:

1.  You don't have to be convinced everything is all right, you just have to be convinced everything is.

2.  Earth tray

The first phrase, like my blue compass, sounds like something you might hear from an annoying yoga teacher.  The second phrase is a bit more to my liking.  Inscrutable.